


Babies and Busters

by Trivialqueen



Category: Ghostbusters (Movies 1984-1989), Ghostbusters - All Media Types
Genre: Always knock before entering the lab, Angst, Babies, Egon Spengler carrying a Ladybug Backpack, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Jackie Wilson is good for displeased infants and mood slime, Jazz is Janine's Jam, Miscarriage, Pregnancy, Sexual Content, Slice of Life, Swearing because they're adults, That means Smut, Twinkies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-06
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-03-27 17:25:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 26,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13885587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trivialqueen/pseuds/Trivialqueen
Summary: Egon and Janine contemplate an important change in their relationship.A series of one-shots and drabbles in no particular order.Some involving babies, other involving the busters, most just slices of life.Updated every now and again.





	1. Male Pregnancy

**Male Pregnancy**

* * *

 

 **Summary:**  “You want to have a baby.” Peter said bluntly looking him over from shoes to pompadour. “Literally, you’ve been babbling about male pregnancy all week.”

 **Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: This story begins after Gozer but before Ghostbusters is shut down (so like 1986). Egon is in his early forties and Janine is about 35. The timeline of this story (and all my Ghostbusters stories unless otherwise specified) is not canon with Ghostbusters II. For me and this story Janine and Egon begin a relationship after the events in Ghostbusters, and while not without difficulties they stay together from that point forward. I do hope I have captured everyone’s voices appropriately._

Originally posted on my tumblr. This and other Ghostbuster fanfiction can be found here: http://parrottgal.tumblr.com/tagged/ghostbusters

 

* * *

 

Men could not get pregnant. There was no room in their bodies for a uterus and their pelvic region could not remotely handle childbirth. Male mammary glands could not feed a child and he knew for certain that his pain tolerance was entirely too low for labor. There was no way he, Egon Huxley Spengler, could carry and birth a child. This fact did not keep him from lying awake some nights staring up at the ceiling, one arm wrapped around Janine, fast asleep and curled to his side, his other hand lightly stroking his stomach as he thought about carrying a child.

“Why don’t you just ask her, man?” Peter commented one morning in the lab. Winston and Ray were out on an early morning bust-slash-doughnut run. Egon was working on modifying a PKE reader and Peter was being his usual useless self. Egon chose to ignore the psychologist. Unfortunately, Peter refused to let him.

“You talk in your sleep you know.” Venkman tried again, coming to stand so close to his elbow the steam from his coffee mug fogged Egon’s glasses. “I’m surprised she hasn’t said anything about it – has she?” He sighed. Peter wouldn’t go away until he was satisfied; Egon could hear it in his voice.

“Ask about what Peter? I am in the middle of something here.”

“You want to have a baby.” Peter said bluntly looking him over from shoes to pompadour. “Literally, you’ve been babbling about male pregnancy all week.” Egon stared owlishly at his oldest friend, trying not to show how embarrassed he was that  _Peter_  knew what was on his mind.

“I have no clue what you are taking about; you have perhaps been reading too much abnormal psych of late.”

“Spegs,” Peter warned, giving him a look that said  _Don’t like to me, I know you._  “It isn’t abnormal at all for a man your age in a long-term relationship with a woman to begin to think about starting a family. Women aren’t the only ones with biological clocks. The continuation of our species does rely on breeding and I suppose if you’re crazy enough to date Redzilla you’d be crazy enough to mate with her.”

“Peter,” Egon warned. The jabs that so often flew between his best friend and his partner could make him very weary.

“Don’t get me wrong, Egon, she’s good for you. And I think a kid might be good too. It makes you very human.” With that Peter left him more distracted than when he was talking.

A baby. Did he really want a baby with Janine? It certainly wouldn’t be with anyone else. And it would explain the dreams and irrational thoughts of male pregnancy. Was he really ready to start a family?

**~**

He didn’t bring the idea up until a year later - after the courts had shut them down and he had fully moved out of the fire station and in with Janine. Egon had wanted to bring the subject up delicately. They in their nearly three years together had not discussed children in general, let along offspring of their own. She could very easily not want or even like kids. He would completely understand - most children were obnoxious. Most adults were as well, frankly. He’d meant to broach the topic gently. Instead it just popped out one night as they lay in bed, Janine was reading, and he had been working equations for his newly funded research.

“Do you want to start a family?” he blurted. Next to him Janine lowered  _North and South_  and stared at him over the top of her glasses.

“What?”

“Do you want to start a family?” He repeated, “And by family, I mean me impregnating you.” Janine dog-eared her page, sat the book on the nightstand beside her, placed her reading glasses atop it and rubbed her eyes.

“Let me get this straight, you’re asking if I want to have a baby?”

“Not just a baby, my baby.” He retorted. Janine stared at him again.

“What brought this on? What bullshit is Venkman feeding you?” Egon set his work aside as well and turned to fully face his partner.

“Peter has nothing to do with this inquiry. I was wondering if you had given thought to having a child. I understand motherhood isn’t a universal desire.” Janine studied him closely for a long moment, her eyes desperately trying to read his thoughts.

“Would you like a kid Egon? It’s not like fatherhood is a universal desire either.”

“Actually, reproduction is a biological imperative.”

“Not what I meant, and you know it.” In their time together, he had become much better at figurative and rhetorical speech.

“Yes, Janine, I would like to father a child, but only if you were the mother of said child.” Janine’s mouth fell open slightly. Perturbed he groused, “Don’t act so surprised, I am told it is natural for a man my age to desire to have children with the woman he loves.” Janine’s mouth only gaped further, he could see all the way to where her tonsils had been removed.

“What?!”

“I’m sorry Egon, that statement was just so human I-” It was not that he never told her that he loved her - he did - but he never said it like that before.

“I am human!” Egon Spengler was indeed a  _Homo sapien_  and he had emotions like the rest he was beginning to acknowledge. He’d told Janine he loved her nearly two years ago because he realized that it was the best word for all his feelings.

“Yes, but you do do a very good impression of Mr. Spock most of the time Egon.” Janine countered. “Sometimes it is easy to forget you are capable of the mundane.” She leaned over and kissed him.

“That is not to say I don’t love you.” Sometimes it was as if she could read his mind. Except she couldn’t really, they’d had her tested. She simply knew him very, very well.

“Frankly I’d not given any serious thought to having kids and I’ve given next to no thought about having your kids – I guess cuz I had assumed you didn’t want any. So, I don’t know.” She told him looking straight into his eyes. He could see her sincerity bared before him. “My first inclination is to say yes, but I need time to be sure, okay?” He leaned forward and kissed her.

“Can we have sex for non-reproductive purposes tonight?” he asked hesitantly hopeful and with a slight smirk. Janine’s face split into a broad smile and she laughed.

“Yes, that question requires no further thought. Yes.” She quickly rolled over to turn out the light as he turned to place his glasses on the night stand.

After they made love and Egon had drifted off to sleep, arm holding her protectively to his side. Janine lay awake, staring at the handsome profile of her lover.

A baby. With Egon.  _Oy vey_.

 

When she was a little girl Janine had played with baby dolls. She and Dolorous had played house and pretended to be mothers. She’d thought that having a baby was what it meant to be an adult, to be married. You found a man, had a wedding, then a baby and that was what was important. Babies were how one defined happiness. When she was little she remembered that her father’s sister, Aunt Cara and her husband Tommy didn’t have children and Cara had always looked so miserable at family gatherings. As a little girl she’d thought it was because Cara didn’t have a baby. Looking back Cara’s misery was more because Tommy liked to drink too much and hit her – so a baby would have only made things worse. Not that Janine would have understood that at eight.

When she got older Janine rebelled against the idea that she as a woman was defined by her reproduction. She wanted nothing to do with children because she wanted to be defined by something else – her smarts, her smile, her job – something other than the traditional image of woman as mother. Middle school through college she fought hard against people who mentioned children to her – she promised herself she’d never have a baby on purpose or on accident because she was satisfied with herself. She didn’t need a man or a baby to make her complete.

Then all of her friends started getting married and having babies and she softened a little. Some of her friends actually had cute kids. Well behaved children, sweet little boys and girls. And her friends didn’t sacrifice who they were to be mothers. They seemed so naturally good at it and content. Dolorous had Victor and Janine realized that she wasn’t abysmal with handling children. The pendulum swung again as she went from wanting children to scorning children to being afraid she’d never have a relationship where she felt loved, supported, and secure enough to have a child of her own. Some of her friends had successful marriages and good families but there were also others who had children and their husbands abandoned them, hit them, or provided next to nothing financially or emotionally for anyone’s well-being. Janine wanted a child but only if she had a healthy relationship with a man.

Janine reached up and traced the line of Egon’s profile with her index finger. Was Egon the man she imagined having a child with? Was their relationship the kind that could support a child? A baby would bind their lives together forever – longer than eighteen years – for even when that child was no longer their dependent the fact would remain – they had a child together.  A child would alter both their futures. Was she ready for that? Were they ready to face it together?

Fear and uncertainty pressed in around her like she was trapped in a trash compactor. The walls were closing in around her. Questions ran screaming through her head. Doubt settled on her chest like an elephant. She felt every muscle from her toes to her crown tense. Fuck. There was no way in hell she could be a mother if the very idea put her in a panic attack. Beside her Egon slumbered deeply. He was very good about staying awake for some aftercare – she suspected it was because he liked cuddling almost more than she did, but when he fell asleep he was out for the night. His post-coital slumber was far deeper than his regular sleep.

The arm that was slung around her waist, keeping her body pressed against his, tightened.

“I love you.” He mumbled something before that and after it, but the only words that were clear and articulate where those three. Janine had been vaguely aware that Egon talked in his sleep, it amused her. She knew it grated on him when she or others said it, but the fact he talked in his sleep, made him all the more human.

“I love you.” He muttered again, his touch warm and secure. The walls receded, the elephant moved on and the questions faded to whispers. She still had questions, there was still uncertainties, but they were manageable now. Egon loved her. He really loved her, and he was the one to ask about a child – he never said anything for the sake of his voice. He was serious about starting a family with  _her._  He  _loved_  her.

Janine snuggled into her lover’s bare chest until the only sound she could hear was his heart beat and his voice muttering something about ferns and ectoplasm.  She loved him, and he loved her. She still had questions, but they were detail. The important parts were already there. As she drifted off a smile spread across her face.

A baby. With Egon.

* * *

Comments, critiques, and conversation always appreciated. Prompts/ ideas welcome (though as a grad student I make no promises regarding timely fulfillment).


	2. Current Fashion

**Current Fashion**

* * *

  **Summary:**  100 word drabble, prompt: wearing each other’s clothing. Also known as Cait complains about 80s fashion. Slice of life.

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 

“Are you wearing my sweater, Egon?” He blinked and looked down at his chest. He’d fished around in the closet and pulled on the first thing which came into his hand. He’d not recognized the salmon colored sweater, but it had fit so he hadn’t worried. Apparently Janine wasn’t attempting to update his wardrobe.

“I think you’re wearing my sweater.” Egon looked from the garment in question to the petite questioner, sylph-like and a foot shorter than he.

“It fit me.”

“Loose is the current fashion for women.” There was something wrong with fashion if he could wear her clothes.

 


	3. Certainty

**Certainty**

* * *

 

**Summary:**  Two 100 word drabbles, prompts: Arguing and making up.

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 “What is this?” He asked, owlishly examining the slender white stick Janine had pressed into his hands. A large pink plus sign dominating one end of the narrow item.

“It’s a pregnancy test. I’m pregnant Egon.” The scientist looked up at his partner.

“Where are the other ones?”

“What?”

“This could be a false positive; all results need to be replicable before they become valid. Didn’t you take more than one test?”

“Egon, I’ve missed a period – and I haven’t missed one of those since I was fourteen, been nauseous all month, this is just confirming what I already knew.”

“That’s not how science works.”

“It’s how I work!” She crossed her arms. “Look, I’ve scheduled a doctor’s appointment for a blood test to be sure-sure but I’m telling you, I’m preggers.” He headed for the bathroom.

“Those could be unrelated symptoms. How many tests come in a box? If there are two would you, please just take the other test? I need more data.”

“Why?” Janine called after him; he stopped and turned back to her, gaze raw and honest.

“Because I need to know. I want to be  _sure_  that this is the greatest moment of my life.”

* * *

_Author's Note: When my mother called to tell my dad she was pregnant with me she said, "I took a test, it's pink." He replied, very seriously, "how pink is pink?"_


	4. Sympathy Cravings

**Sympathy Cravings**

* * *

 

**Summary:**  100 word drabble, prompt: pregnancy cravings.

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

* * *

 

“Egon,” She was looking at him over the tops of her glasses, the box of Twinkies he’d tossed in their cart earlier in her hand. “What are these doing here?” She’d been trying to get him to eat healthier since they moved in together. She thought, given his obsession with her health since she’d gotten pregnant, he might listen and they could both start eating better. But alas.

“Cravings.”

“I’ve been craving pickles, Egon.”

“Sympathy cravings.”

“You’re gonna get a sympathy gut before too long.” She muttered but dropped the sweets back into the cart.


	5. Every Morning - Make the Bed

Every Morning – Make the Bed

 

* * *

 

**Summary:** The most domestic framing tools of all – Cleaning and Chores!

**Pairing(s):**  Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author's Note: This piece is ca. January 1987. This piece, and some others I've outlined are based on this insane cleaning schedule one guy posted on imgur that got tons of coverage, including from the Daily Mail. I’ve turned each of his chores into a different prompt._

* * *

 

Janine Melnitz turned the alarm off with a _thwack_! The clock was handy, modified to have multiple alarms stored at the same time, however the changes, while useful, also meant that extra force was required with the buttons. Not that she minded when the high-pitched beeping pulled her from a warm, deep sleep. Noise off she rolled over for a few more minutes of sleep, only to find her pillow now occupied. In the dim light of morning she could see that Egon was also awake and wearing a faint, mischievous…leer, suggesting that he wasn’t annoyed with the early hour. After over two years together Janine knew what that expression meant…

Sliding into his arms she felt herself smile back.

“Good morning.” He was hot and hard against her stomach. Egon did not greet her verbally, but instead with a deep kiss, his hand roaming down her back and over her sides. Waking up beside Egon every morning was one of her favorite parts of moving in together. After two years of dating and even longer of being in love with him she knew there was nowhere else she’d rather be than by his side.

Also, Egon preferred morning sex.

Not that he wouldn’t make love to her in the evening (or in the afternoon) but if left to his own devices and given a choice he was always hottest for her first thing in the morning. The sex was so good she could ignore their combined morning breath. Morning sex wasn’t always an option before, however. The schedule of being a Ghostbuster was not conducive to being a boyfriend, especially when she was still living in Brooklyn and he needed to be at the firehouse early. Overnight stays had to be carefully planned in advance. Which meant intercourse was also scheduled. Especially since she refused to sleepover at the Firehouse. Even after they rebuilt their headquarters following the Peck explosion to include individual (if small) bedrooms. She was not having sex in a room that shared a wall with Peter Venkman.

The closure of Ghostbusters operations was sad. She really was sad. But. The abrupt closure of business had sped up the moving in timeline which meant she got him to herself every night and every morning. As Egon’s warm, broad hand slipped under her top and over her breasts she found herself okay with the change.

The two bedroom, two and a half baths walk up in Murray Hill wasn’t as close to the firehouse as Egon had hoped when they had discussed moving in together last year. But it was better than Brooklyn and as far as Manhattan real estate went it was affordable. Egon had given up his Bauhaus style flat near Columbia when Ghostbusters had first taken off. He was now kicking himself since the Board of Regents had given him a grant to comeback and research at the University. Murray Hill was a forty-minute subway ride away from his office. Ray, Peter, and Egon had all formally moved into the firehouse when they started the business. Winston was the only one who kept his own space after joining the company – a mother-in-law style apartment over his parents’ garage in the Bronx. After the injunction Egon had moved in with her and Peter had fled to the Flatiron District after his catastrophic break up with Dana Barrett. Only Ray stayed in Tribeca, keeping an eye on the containment unit and the firehouse, living with the only ghosts they couldn’t bust – the ghosts of the past.

Janine stopped thinking about poor Ray. One, it made her sad and two, Egon had swept her flannel sleep shirt over her head and was worshipping her breasts with open mouth kisses. She lost all rational thought when he did that. Her nipples were very sensitive, and Egon liked to use that against her in the most pleasurable way possible.

“Oh Egon!” He trailed kisses down her abdomen and hooked his fingers in her panties. He looked up with a look of pure sin on his face.

“Please.” She whispered. It made sense that a guy who loved to eat as much as he did enjoyed eating her as well. Janine ran a hand through his dark hair and gave herself over to the sensations his lips and tongue and fingers created in her. He was a true epicurean, savoring her on every part of his pallet, rolling her taste on his tone, experiencing the textures and scents and flavors of her body.

She came against his lips, two fingers buried to the third knuckle, tongue beating out sixteenth notes on her clit like Dizzy Gillespie on trumpet.

Egon wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and then the bedsheets and waggled his brows at her. Without his glasses he looked different – relaxed, youthful, intimate.

“I’ve been told if someone asks if you’re a God you say yes, but really Janine, just call me Egon.” His voice was deeper in the morning (and when he was aroused), it was enough to send another orgasmic zing through her. He was so proud of not only himself but of his joke. She had to laugh.

Way back when she had first started working at Ghostbusters and her massive crush had been a wee sapling she could have never imagined just how funny Egon Spengler was. But he was funny. And warm. Patient. Loyal to a fault. Interesting to talk with and a good listener. Sometimes even affectionate. She had certainly imagined him bed, but her creativity had not given him his due. His big brain and his big other things, when put to work with his excellent attention to detail made him an extremely satisfying and generous lover.

Rather than retort she tugged his undershirt over his head. He removed his own sleep shorts and tossed them on the pile of discarded clothes. Janine raised herself up on her elbows, waiting to see how he wanted to proceed. Egon liked to make love to her from behind because of the depth and angle She enjoyed those aspects of “doggy style” but she couldn’t really touch him or participate as much as she liked because she had to focus on keeping herself up and not falling over. Missionary was a consistent success for them, as it allowed for kissing and caresses. Her on top was a good position but it took longer for him to finish when she sat on his dick and while their time was more generous than before they still had a deadline. Having two alarms was Egon’s idea. The first gave them time to make love if they wanted, the second was when she really had to get up.

Murray Hill was a bit far from Tribeca and almost the opposite corner of the island from Columbia, but their apartment was only two blocks from her new job as the personal assistant to the associate editor of history and political science at Oxford University Press. As an exclusively research appointment Egon didn’t really have to be in the lab by a certain time every day so long as he produced data and research. Janine, however, was expected in the office by nine. Making the five-minute walk door to door super convenient. Especially on mornings like this.

Egon parted her knees, missionary in the morning. His self-satisfied smirk fell from his face as the blunt head of his cock parted her wet lips. His head was sensitive, and he took particular pleasure in teasing it with her opening. His face betrayed the extreme pleasure this gave him and that was the only thing keeping her from wrapping her legs tight around him and forcing him deep immediately. The damn tease.

Finally, he entered her fully, sheathing himself to the hilt.

“Ohhhh, Gawd – Egon, you’re so deep.” Thankfully no one expected brilliant dialogue during sex.

“And I love it.” He rumbled deep in his chest, his brilliant brown eyes nearly black with desire. Janine shivered – she had always loved his voice.

Egon turned and kissed her palm as she stroked his face. He was not overly demonstrative in his affection, Egon Spengler was no octopus but when he did show affection it was meaningful. She trailed her hand down his cheek, feeling the scratch of his stubble before smoothing over his throat and toward his chest. She wasn’t the only one with sensitive nipples. Pinching one, Egon sucked air sharply between his teeth. She soothed it with gentle circles before tweaking the other one.

“Oh! Oh yes! I love it when you’re so deep.” Not only did she discover that Egon had a great sense of humor but early on she’d learned about his nipples as essentially the “on” switch for his libido. Then she’d discovered his kink for dirty talk. He was adamant it was her tone more than her content – her voice egging him on got him hot, not that he was into “dirty” talk. But he didn’t get as excited when she recited Tony Bennett lyrics in the same tone as he did when she said things like “I love your cock, it’s so big” and “fuck me” or “You’re so deep”.

Janine drove her heels into the mattress, bridging her hips up and into his, increasing the friction and his depth.

“Ah! Ah!” Like in life Egon wasn’t all that verbose in bed but she’d learned to read his expressions and moans. He was close. A few more thrusts, her hips matching him thrust for thrust. A few more tweaks to the nipple and he’d be over the edge.

The first year of their relationship they’d used condoms in addition to the pill – for safety. After a year of exclusivity, they’d dropped the rubbers. STDs weren’t a concern and she was protected against pregnancy. Condoms were expensive and a hassle.

“J-Ja-Janine!” Egon came, hard. She could feel his member pulse and surge within her.

Egon, breathing heavily, lowered himself down over her. Janine wrapped her arms around him, showered his face with kisses, and held him tight as he regained his equilibrium. The comforter and top sheet were bunched at the foot of their new Queen bed (her double, which had been her great-grandma’s, was too short for Egon – his feet stuck out the wrought iron footer).

She remained wrapped around him like a vine until he softened and slipped from her. They tidied themselves quietly, dim morning light slightly brighter than before. Janine ducked into the _en suite_ to finish freshening herself up. Cleaned up she returned to the bedroom to find Egon in his trunks, her sleep shirt and panties on the foot of the bed. He was smoothing the top sheet down.

“I thought this might be a barrier between us and the wet spot.” He offered. Janine looked at the clock – there was time before the second alarm.

“We’re changing these sheets tonight.” She announced, pulling her underwear on. They were damp and cold, she pulled a face. Egon laid down and opened his arms to her. Once Janine was curled into his side, her head pillowed on his breast, he pulled the duvet around them, building a cocoon from the real world for another fifteen mintues.


	6. Perfection

Perfection

* * *

 

Summary:The name Violet is a girl's name of Latin origin meaning "purple". The Violet symbolizes, in the language of flowers, true love or thoughts occupied with love. 

Pairing(s): Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

Disclaimer: I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: As I’ve mentioned several times this universe is not cannon compliant. In particular there are changes made following the conclusion of the first film that have altered how the second film plays out. For one Janine and Egon got together in 1984 and have been together ever since, going so far as to move in together around 1987 and have children together, get married, etc. Ghosbusters II ends New Year’s Eve 1989, for purposes of this AU Janine is about three months pregnant. She and Egon get married in January of 1990. This story therefore takes place sometime in the summer of ’90._

* * *

 

The nurse smiled as she placed the bundle into the exhausted mother’s arms before making a quiet exit. She wished to give the new parents as much time alone with their child as possible. Though the moment she handed over the babe to her family it would not have mattered if she had left on an elephant beating a bass drum; the Spenglers were aware of nothing save for their beautiful baby girl less than seven hours old. Doctor Spengler sat on his wife’s bed, Mrs. Spengler in his arms, their child, their little miracle, six years, nine months, and fourteen hours in the making nestled in her mother’s arms.

Violet Melnitz Spengler looked up at her parents with wide, focused eyes of undetermined color. The doctors said it would take time before they could report to their family whether or not she had her mother’s hazel gaze or her father’s coffee brown eyes. Though in that moment the only thing that mattered to the parents was that they could report mother and child were in excellent health.

“Oh, Egon.” Janine said softly, watching as her daughter wrapped one tiny hand around her father’s long index finger.

The simple power of the moment took his breath away. It had been said that perfection did not exist in nature; it had not been said by a father. For looking down at his baby Egon knew that the adage was wrong, perfection did exist, and she was his. His little girl, his and Janine’s. His greatest joy, just as Janine’s love was the greatest gift.

“She’s perfect.” He whispered.

“And she’s ours.”

 


	7. Holding Hands

**Holding Hands**

* * *

 

**Summary:** 100 Word Drabble, Prompt: Holding Hands. This was born out of a conversation with the-musical-cc involving a ladybug backpack, having to bend down to hold hands, and skipping.

**Pairing(s):**  None, Egon Spengler & Violet Spengler fluff

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author's Note: Violet Spengler is Egon and Janine’s daughter, and an Original Character of mine._

* * *

 

“Wait for me, Violet!” The tall man called after a skipping little girl, her curly pigtails swished energetically. She slowed, bouncing in place while the man caught up in three long legged strides. He was dressed in a conservative grey suit and carried a child sized ladybug backpack.

“We need to hold hands when we cross the street.” He stooped slightly to take her small hand, like a giraffe trying to drink. The girl bounced beside him waiting for the light.

“Daddy, skip.”

“Violet, you just said you couldn’t skip with a backpack, which is why I’m carrying it.”


	8. Once a Week - Sweep the Floors

**Once a Week - Sweep the floors**

* * *

 

Summary:The most domestic framing tools of all – Cleaning and Chores!

Pairing(s): Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

Disclaimer: I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Note: This piece is ca. March 1987. This piece, and some others are based on this insane cleaning schedule one guy posted on imgur that got tons of coverage, including from the Daily Mail. I’ve turned each of his chores into a different prompt. The Song quoted and referenced is "Cheek to Cheek" performed by Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong._

* * *

 

Unlocking his own front door Egon felt the tension he carried in his shoulders dissipate. It had been a long week, made even longer by a number of meetings he hadto attend, taking him out of his lab and in close quarters with administrators. But he was home now. Inside he was welcomed by the heavenly aroma of cooking dinner and the sound of Louis Armstrong on the record player.

_Heaven, I’m in Heaven. And the cares that hung around me through the week, seem to vanish like a gambler’s lucky streak, when we’re out together, Dancing cheek to cheek._

On his way to his office to deposit his brief case Egon detoured through the kitchen to investigate the rich, savory aroma filling his senses. Coq au Riesling the recipe said. He peeked in the heavy Dutch oven on the range, the chicken stew looked ready (and smelled delicious) although the oven timer was still counting down a quarter of an hour to go.

Discarding his briefcase, he loosened his tie and watched as Janine twirled by his open office door, the broom in her hand more of a dance partner than sweeping. She had changed out of her work clothes and into a pair of jeans and some thick socks. Although technically it was spring Mother Nature had not gotten the memo and the week had been marked by grey skies and cold rains. The lovely hardwood floors of the apartment were particularly unforgiving in such weather.

On his own socked feet Egon approached his petite partner, still seemingly unaware that he had arrived home. “Mind if I cut in?”

Janine had heard Egon come in the door, but he still managed to sneak up on her. He chuckled as she started at his question and regarded her with one of his half smiles that she loved so much. It was the sort of smile that told her he was very proud of himself for something. It extended to his eyes and they shone with such affection and warmth that she was momentarily taken aback. They had been together for over two years but sometimes it still awed her how much love Egon was capable and how lucky she was that he loved her. He took the broom from her hands and propped it against the sofa before taking her in his arms.

_Heaven, I’m in heaven. And my heart beats so that I can hardly speak, and I seem to find the happiness I seek when we’re out together, dancing cheek to cheek._

He was too tall for them to actually dance cheek to cheek, but he held her close all the same and led them around the living room in a rough approximation of a foxtrot. She could care less that he was slightly off the beat, as they swayed she could feel the joy between them and knew that she really had found heaven.


	9. Watching a Movie

**Watching a Movie**

* * *

 

**Summary:** Prompt: Watching a movie. Also inspired by this very relatable [tweet](https://twitter.com/Pork_Chop_Hair/status/850549933342109697).

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz.

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s note: This takes place sometime after Egon and Janine have moved in together, so 1987 or after. Exorcist II: The Heretic was released in 1977 and is considered one of the single worst movies ever made. Pyewacket is the name of Janine’s seal-point Rex cat, it’s named after the cat in the 1950s film, Bell, Book, and Candle._

* * *

 

“Egon.” Janine hated to wake her slumbering partner, but the credits had finally rolled on Exorcist II and he should really sleep in their bed, rather than laying with his head in her lap. “Egon.” She tried again, slightly louder, and gently flicked the end of his nose. His face scrunched with indignation and he opened his eyes, his dark gaze unable to fully focus properly without his wireframed spectacles.

“Wut was that for?” he yawned.

“Some movie date you are, you snored all the way through the third act.” She admonished gently.

“I’m not the one who thought starting a movie at nine pm was a good idea.” He replied, carefully sitting up. Pyewacket, disturbed from his warm place in the Physicist’s lap gave an indignant yowl and flounced out of the living room. “Furthermore, from what I saw of the movie I think, if anything, my snoring improved the film since you no longer had to listen to the stilted dialogue.” Janine laughed aloud at that.

“It really was an awful movie, wasn’t it? I can see why people threw shit at the screen when it was released.”

“And completely unnecessary. The first one was quite good, and significantly more accurate than …that.” he gestured in disgust at the television now showing static.

“In a way I am glad we watched it.” Janine said as she handed him his glasses which she had removed from his handsome face when he’d fallen asleep. “The first film legitimately scares me, I was concerned I wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight, but after that…” she shrugged. Egon stood and offered her his hand.

“Why would you be worried about going to sleep tonight?” He asked, pulling her up from the sofa and into his arms. “Nothing could possibly happen to you, you have the most qualified former paranormal investigations and exterminations specialist on the other side of the bed.” Janine smiled broadly, rising on her tip toes to bring her lips closer to his.

“Yeah, but he sleeps like the dead.”

 


	10. Valentine's Day

**Valentine’s Day**

* * *

 

 **Summary:** Prompt: “Happy Valentine’s Day”.

 **Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz, mentions Winston/OFC.

 **Disclaimer:**  I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s note: In my little world Winston is involved with Dr. Layla Martin, an Egyptologist and the curator of the Egyptian exhibits at the Manhattan Museum of Art and Antiquity. This story takes place Valentine’s day of 1987 and could be read in conjunction with the short, “Watching a Movie”. Beltane is May 1 st. _

* * *

 

 Janine rarely thought about her age - if asked how old she was she usually had to pause and think about it. At work she had felt every one of her thirty-five years. It wasn’t that her younger colleagues were malicious or mean, in fact she was confident that Julia didn’t have a mean bone in her entire body, it was just…Valentine’s Day had thrown into sharp relief that she was in a very different place in her life than her twenty something peers. All day there had been discussion of roses and romantic dinners at expensive restaurants, ladies’ nights and one-night stands, Brazilian waxes and revenge sex.  She had been exhausted just listening to it all. She was also extremely grateful for the man beside her washing their wine glasses in the sink as she boxed up the left-over Szechuan take out. Although Jackie had said “monogamy” like a dirty word Janine found it suited her just fine. For one thing she knew Egon loved her as much as she loved him. For another it meant she didn’t have to try and impress him anymore, she could skip sheaving her legs and he didn’t even notice.

Jillian had looked utterly horrified when Janine described her Valentine’s Day plans of takeout and horror films (a tradition left over from her single years). The younger woman had clearly expected her “boyfriend” (Janine hated that term, Egon was a grown-ass man, hardly a boy) to perform the perfunctory grand gestures to signify to the world they were in love. Janine was glad he had not caved to societal pressures, the quiet evening they spent at home was much more them than trying to get a table at Rao’s.

 

“Careful.” Egon said softly, lifting his right arm over his head so that Janine could curl herself into his side. Once she had pillowed her auburn head on his chest he lowered his arm around her shoulder. It was her favorite part of their life together, the five or so minutes they spent before falling asleep quietly talking about their day. No distractions, nothing but themselves, together.

“I heard from Ray today.” Egon commented, his right hand tracing the embroidery on her night shirt. “He’s decided to open a book shop, he just put some money down on a storefront.” The closure of Ghostbusters had hit them all hard, but Ray in particular had been devastated. And despite his best attempts Egon had been unable to extend the research grant the Regents had offered him to include Ray in his work. The last few months had been awkward with tension as he old friends found it hard to talk any more.

“That’s great.”

“He wants to open by Beltane.” Beltane. Janine racked her brain for why she knew that word.

“I take it he won’t be selling the _Times_ Best Sellers.” In the dark she couldn’t see Egon’s smirk, but she could feel it.

“The _Times_ doesn’t have an occult list, so no.”

“Typical Ray.”

 

“Winston was planning on proposing tonight.” Janine said with a yawn, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled over them both. The fourth ghostbuster had called her and asked for some discreet, feminine assistance last month. They had met at Tiffany and Company and over glass cases full of shimmering, shiny rings he had explained his plan to propose to his long-time partner, Layla. Together they had chosen a yellow diamond that shone as brightly as the sun, it was set in a halo of smaller diamonds. The entire ring glittered with an inner light, which was what drew Winston to it in the first place. He explained, in an awed voice, that this was the only ring that came remotely close to Layla’s fire and beauty.

“Oh?” Egon rumbled, she could hear by the tenor of his voice he was on the verge of falling asleep. “Good for him. I quite like Dr. Martin.”

“Me too.” Janine slowly began to disentangle herself. Neither one of them could actually sleep cuddled up so close together. She got too hot and he eventually lost circulation in his arm. “G’night Egon.”

“Good night, Janine. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”


	11. Higher and Higher

**Summary:** Prompt: Doing something ridiculous.Inspired in part by a conversation with the-musical-cc about GB2’s use of Jackie Wilson to appease the mood slime. Also inspired by the fact apparently as a baby I threw a fit during bath time unless someone sang during it. Apparently I scared my aunt for life with such dramatics…

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz.

**Disclaimer:**  I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: This story is either AU because Violet Spengler is born before the events of Ghostbusters II OR it’s AU because GB2 doesn’t involve a lake of mood slime as a plot device and they discover the psychomagnotheric goo later._ _Reet Petite and (Your love keeps lifting me) Higher and Higher are both by Jackie Wilson._

* * *

 

The scream Violet loosed as soon as Janine began to unsnap her onesie was utterly unholy. Their daughter did _not_ like bath time. In every other aspect she was a quiet and observant infant. And then you tried to give her a bath. It did not matter who bathed the child, Egon or Janine; it did not matter where they tried to bathe the child, in the sink or in the bathtub. The scientist in him had already listed every variable he could think of in bath time and they had tried them all in the months since Violet had been born. And still the girl made herself nearly sick with scream-crying. She would turn bright red from the top of her head to her feet. Naked they could watch as her displeasure spread all over her skin.

“I promise you, honey, this hurts me more than it hurts you.” He could hear Janine assuring their little girl, to no avail. There was a hint of hysterics and tears in her own voice. Egon stopped his tidying of the kitchen at her tone. Violet’s insistence at screaming herself sick every night took a toll on them both. His daughter, scarlet red in his arms and shrieking like he was about to sacrifice her to the old Gods, made him feel like a terrible father. There were times when he wanted to shriek back.

Rather than screaming Violet’s crying had inspired his wife’s tears. If there was one thing that hurt him as much as his daughter’s tears it was Janine crying. He could steel himself to the sound of Violet, she could not speak yet, crying was her only means of communication. But there was no reason for Janine to be upset if he could help it.

On top of the stack of records beside the player was The _Best of Jackie Wilson._ Egon put the album on the turntable and set the needle, an idea – a ridiculous idea forming in his mind.

“ _Well, have you ever seen a girl for whom your soul you'd give? For whom you'd fight for, die for, pray to God you'd lie for? She's so fine, she's so fine, she's really sweet the finest girl You ever want to meet_ …” Egon was well aware he could not “carry a tune in a bucket” but in this instance he felt as if that was an additional advantage. His intention was to cheer his partner up, and what better way than an off-key serenade?

He shimmed his way into the guest bathroom, where Janine was bathing Violet in the sink. He felt outlandish singing and dancing behind her, as he was not particularly keen on either activity, but her eyes lit up in the mirror as she watched him make an ass of himself.

“ _Oh, oh, oh, oh Oh, oh, oh, oh Rrrr Reet Petite, the finest girl you ever want to meet_!” He committed to his rendition, seeing how it brought a smile to Janine’s full, marsala colored lips. Her mirth was infectious and soon he found himself laughing with her – at himself. Laughing at himself, being something other than entirely serious, was inconceivable for him before he met Janine. And oh, look at him now! He wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist and swayed with her slightly as he continued to sing along. Between her laughter, and his own, as well as his self-reflection he almost missed it. He had to do a double take before he realized what had suddenly changed in the bathroom.

Violet was no longer screaming. In fact, she was smiling.

Smiling.

While taking a bath.

Yes, she was still flushed red from her earlier distress, but a gummy grin had replaced her shrill wail.

“Janine, look.” He intoned in her ear, squeezing his arms around her middle.

“What?!” She tensed in his embrace.

“She’s got your taste in music.” She instantly relaxed.

“Oh, Thank God!”

**~**

“I think it feeds on emotions.” Ray whispered, staring at the bubbling petri dish. The unidentified goo they’d found in the abandoned subway tunnel was like nothing they had seen before. It’d been largely inactive, until Stantz had dropped a box of equipment– shattering the eye piece of his magnifying glasses and seriously bruising his foot. His string of curses sent the apparently psychomagnotheric slime roiling.

“Perhaps.” Spengler acknowledged, jotting down some notes. “You just experienced anger. Let’s keep going with that and find out.”

“You worthless piece of slime!” Ray shouted at the dish. “You’re a chemical disgrace!” The goo continued to bubble, growing visibly more volatile with each insult.

 

“Shit! I think It’s going to blow!” Ray had found the slime’s limit, it had shifted from bubbling to looking as if it was trying to weaponize the petri dish. “We gotta calm it down. But how?”

“ _Your love, lifting me higher Than I've ever been lifted before. So, keep it up, quench my desire, and I'll be at your side, forever more_ …” The words tumbled from his mouth before Egon even began to think of a solution. And instantly the slime stopped trying to charge them. He kept singing and the bubbles began popping, the goo settling down. By the second verse it was mellowed out, and during the chorus it began rocking the dish in time – almost as if it was dancing. Ray stared at him.

Egon cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses.

“Good choice, Egon.”

“Violet screams herself sick in the bath unless we play music or sing.” After his initial discovery they had experimented and determined that Violet preferred music with an upbeat tempo and lyrics. She would smile when they sang to her, but even if they left the singing to the professionals she would at least quietly allow herself to be bathed.

“Alright, so Jackie Wilson is good for displeased infants and … mood slime.”


	12. Happy Birthday

**Summary:** Prompt: One of their Birthdays. Rated R for sexually suggestive content ;).

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: Violet Melnitz Spengler was born July 1990._

* * *

 

Egon is home when she and Violet arrive, and the whole house smells like Italian food. Janine lets Violet down once they are in the apartment and she carefully toddles over to Egon, a large smile on her face.

“Da!”

“Happy birthday Violet.” He wishes her as he scoops her up into a hug. He has discarded his suit jacket and stands in their kitchen in trousers of a lightweight heather grey, a light blue collared shirt and navy-blue tie.

“Are you hungry?” He asks, Janine isn’t sure if he’s speaking to her or their daughter.

He’s brought dinner from Angelo’s, he explains as Janine washes her hands and helps Violet wash hers. He has the dishes served up when she returns from the bath. At Violet’s high chair there is a small plate of spaghetti and red sauce. For her and him there is chicken marsala and two generous glasses of Chardonnay. They talk about their days as Violet successfully gets most of the pasta in her mouth and nearly all of her sauce on herself – starting at her hairline, continuing down her romper, and somehow ending between her toes.

“Oh, sweet one, it looks like you’ve committed a murder.” Janine chuckles. Allowing Violet to feed herself is always an adventure. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Janine, you have spent more time paying attention to Violet’s food than your own. Finish your meal while it is still warm, I will take care of cleaning Violet up.” Egon tells her, standing up and removing his tie.

“Egon-” She begins to protest, he silences her with a look. It’s not a mean look, in fact it is almost the exact opposite. It’s a kind of sad, desperate look, one that says ‘please, let me do this’. He is, after all, Violet’s father but he doesn’t always get to enjoy what that means.

“I will have her bathed in no time.” He removes his watch and carefully places it on the table before rolling up his shirtsleeves and taking the birthday girl from her chair. Violet is absolutely delighted and presses saucy handprints all over his bare forearms.

“I’ll bring you her pajamas, it’s almost bedtime.” Janine says before quickly turning to her own, half touched meal and tucking in.

Janine has always been sexually attracted to Egon, since they had first met. The attraction had only grown after they began sleeping together and she knew exactly what lay beneath his expertly tailored suits and just what he could do with it.

Never in her life had she been so wet as she was now, watching Egon bathe their daughter. He is crouched beside the tub, his shirt rolled well past his elbows. He is using a cup to carefully dump water over Violet’s head and rinse out the shampoo he’s used (he did not put her hair up into anything funny, but maybe next time).

“Happy Birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday dear Violet, happy birthday to you.” He sings as he washes her hair. Violet giggles the entire time, which means that he does not hear the shutter snap of the camera as she takes a picture of this moment.

“I have her nightgown, when you’re ready.” Egon looks up at her and smiles and Janine can feel her heart melt.

Egon dries Violet off expertly and gets her into her blue and white nightgown with little trouble. He has told her time and again that she is well-suited for motherhood, but he is not terrible father in the slightest.

“A moose and a goose together have juice. But not the hippopotamus.” Egon reads to Violet with the same seriousness that he brings to all other aspects of his life and work. Which is kind of hilarious considering he is reading a book about words that don’t rhyme with hippopotamus and armadillo.

By the time Violet is asleep Janine is so horny and so in love with Egon that she can hardly see straight. She’s also on her third glass of wine which has successfully crushed all her barriers. The moment they’re out of the nursery’s line of sight Janine pulls him into a searing kiss. Egon returns it tenfold and they stumble their way to their bedroom.

It’s hardly the first time they’ve had sex since Violet was born. However, Janine still had some fears. She was afraid he’d be disgusted by her – bodies are never the same after carrying a baby. She knows she’s softer around the middle than she was before, she knows she’s nowhere as tight as she used to be (pushing a healthy eight-pound person out of her vagina would do that to a woman). But as Egon worships her with his tongue (including extra time spent appreciating her _there_ ) she is reminded that he doesn’t mind the changes.


	13. In-Laws

**Summary:** Janine v. Uncle Cyrus

**Pairing(s):** Mentions of Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz  
 _Making an appearance: Mrs. Katherine Spengler, Dr. Cyrus Spengler, mentions of Dr. Darwin Spengler_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *Way* different.

_Author’s Notes: Uncle Cyrus is based on the Real Ghostbusters Character. I am hazy about how in my own head the movies and cartoons’ canons work together, but I can say with confidence that this features Harold Ramis as Egon Spengler and Annie Potts as Janine Melnitz, soon to be Janine Melnitz Spengler. By my own timeline Janine and Egon get married in January of 1990, following the events of GB2 and before the birth of their first child._

* * *

 

"Uncle Cyrus," Janine said politely, cornering the Spengler Patriarch in the living room. Egon was in the bathroom working on her reading glasses, she'd "accidently" lost a screw down the drain, and the mothers were off running last minute wedding errands. Her full lips twisted, she had hoped for a moment alone with the eldest Spengler man.

"Dr. Spengler, if you please, Ms. Melnitz." he said severely, Janine didn't let his attitude bother her, instead she gave him her best smile.

"We're about to be family, I feel like that warrants a little familiarity." he looked over his glasses at her, just as his nephew often did.

"We're not going to be family Ms. Melnitz."

"Dr. Spengler, you're not a stupid man. Egon and I have been dating for five years, if he was going to leave me he would have done it already. We are getting married. We will be family. Call me Janine."

"Ms. Melnitz-"

"Janine."

"What?"

"I told you, family - Janine - civility."

"Ms. Melnitz."

"Listen, Uncle Cyrus" she emphasized the name, "I love Egon. He loves me. We've been together for five years, now we're getting married. I'd like you to be happy for us."  He looked at her darkly.

"I don't believe this."

"Okay, clearly you're not listening to logic."

"You're not using logic."

"Okay, you're not listening to logic or illogic so now I'll use the most effective of all rhetorical devices," She reached up and grabbed his necktie pulling his face down so that they were eye to eye. "I love Egon. He loves me. We are getting married. I am carrying his child. You keep bringing up his father like Darwin Spengler is God, it makes Egon upset, and that makes me up set. So, I'm going to break this down for you. You keep making Egon unhappy I will make you a million times worse. If you'd like to remain with the ability to pee standing up, you will lay off your nephew. If you fuck up our wedding, _I will destroy you_." The steel in her gaze told the elder scientist she was not speaking in hyperbole. He swallowed hard. "We understand each other?" He nodded. "Good. Good chat. I'll see you at the reception." She smiled and released his tie.

**X**

Janine waited until she was in the kitchen before she allowed her frustration and stress to surface. She loved Egon and she knew that he loved her, but his laudable sense of family might ruin them yet. She sighed, _positive thinking, positive thinking_.

"Janine," Mrs. Spengler had come back from her errands. “I just dropped your mother off.... are you alright?" Clearly, she did not have her fiancé’s control.

“Fine, just fine.”

“You might be a worse liar than my son, Janine, which is a singular accomplishment.” The younger woman wished for her glasses so that she had something to fiddle with and channel her energy, or at least hide behind. Apparently, Egon was in every way the image of this father, with the exception of his eyes. He had his mother’s eyes. Those family eyes now pinned her like a bug under glass.

“It’s nothing, just a disagreement with Uncle Cyrus.”

“What’d that old goat do now?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Janine heaved a mighty sigh, “I’d kill for a glass of wine right now, stupid pregnancy hormones.” She could tell her mother-in-law-to-be exactly what was on her mind, how Janine was really starting to hate her late husband because of the way Egon had described his childhood and now the way that Cyrus Spengler kept invoking his name. Or she could not, and avoid alienating another member of Egon’s family by complaining about the man she married.

“No wine.” Katherine Spengler pronounced, moving toward the fridge. “But if I make you a virgin vodka soda will you answer me honestly?” Janine said nothing.

 

“Did Cyrus say something to you about the wedding?” Mrs. Spengler asked quietly, handing Janine a ginger ale garnished with lime in a cocktail glass. Janine shook her head. “To Egon?”

“He won’t tell me everything, but I think I’ve figured out the gist of it.” Janine took a deep breath. “Your husband would not have approved of me.”

“He would have more than disapproved.” Katherine said with a sad smile. “We weren’t married for love, Darwin and I. He never grasped the concept. Like with other things he did not understand he would have decried it, avoided it, and eventually buried and suppressed any feelings, thoughts, or memories of it until he could go back to pretending that the world fit his view of it.”

Not knowing what to say Janine said nothing. Instead she drank her mocktail, a poor substitute for the real deal.

“No, Darwin would not have approved, but I wholeheartedly do. Janine, my son loves you, and seeing you two together these last five years I can tell that you love him just as much. You’re happy together. I had always hoped Egon would be happy. And now he is. Because of you.” Mother took daughter-in-law’s hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze. 

* * *

 

_Author’s Note II: To riff on the cliché about not getting along with your in-laws; just find yourself someone whose parents don’t speak English. My fiancé is German, his parents live in Germany, and while they learned English in school they don’t speak it very often. My German is atrocious. Which means when we’re together we just smile and nod at each other rather than talk._


	14. Once a Month – Clean the Appliances

**Summary:** Cleaning can be soothing. Two instances in which Janine or Egon decide cleaning the kitchen at 3am is a good idea. In part inspired by wingdingsandbrokenstrings’ tumblr post about Scruffy Egon. **TW:  reference to a miscarriage**.

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Notes: The first half of this story takes place in April of 1897, Janine and Egon have been in a relationship for nearly two and a half years. They have been living together five months. The second half of this story takes place in April of 1990, Janine and Egon have been together over five years, living together over three years. Janine is six months pregnant with their first child._

* * *

 

April 1987

Egon woke with a start. It was a disorienting feeling – as all middle of the night pulls from slumber were. Made the more confusing because he was not prone to such abrupt moments. Janine had more than once joked that he slept like the dead. A woefully unscientific colloquialism which none the less seemed like an apt description. He was indeed a deep sleeper when he did sleep. None of this, he reminded himself explained why he was suddenly awake at … he pulled the clock close to his face to try and read the glow in the dark hands ... Nearly Three o’clock in the morning.

Perhaps it was Janine. She had jostled him awake on more than one occasion since they had begun sharing a bed. Once it was because she had a nightmare and managed to clobber him in the nose as she struggled against the sheets, who had simulated the attacker in her dream ( _Nightmare on Elm Street_ had a lot to answer for, in addition to making no goddamn sense). Another time he had had a cold, and she had kicked him out of bed to sleep on the sofa propped up because he was snoring so badly.

“Janine-” He yawned, turning to her side of the bed.

Her empty side of the bed.

Something was wrong.

Quietly he got up, the hardwood floors freezing under his feet.

Padding outside the master suite he could see a light coming from the kitchen. Approaching on bare, silent feet he could hear the occasional faint sniffle and the sounds of scrubbing.

The overhead light of the kitchen was momentarily blinding. When his vision adjusted he found his partner of going on three years on her hands and knees, head and upper body inside the open oven. She was still dressed for bed, wearing one of his pajama shirts and not much else. Rather than throw on a robe or slippers she had elbow length rubber gloves in bright yellow as her accessory of choice. She was slathering the inside of the oven in a grainy white paste, aggressively working it into the corners and accumulated grease. Under the loose top he could see her breasts jiggle and bounce as she made tight scrubbing circles.

“What on earth are you doing?” Janine jumps several inches in the air, slamming her head on the roof of the oven.

“Motherfucker!” She swore, loudly, scrambling upright.

“Are you alright?” He asked, his hand moving through her hair to feel her scalp for bruising, abrasions, or blood.  He studied her face. Without her glasses he could clearly see her eyes, they seemed to be focusing well – not lagging or otherwise indicating a concussion. They were, however, blood shot. Her cheeks were tear streaked as well, and her nose was red.

“What are you doing awake?!” She demanded. “You sleep like the dead, you weren’t supposed to wake up yet.”

“First question,” His voice was surprisingly calm, especially to his own ears. She had been crying, she was hurt – he was most certainly not calm. “Are you hurt?” He couldn’t feel anything immediately wrong, but he kept his hand in her short auburn hair until she met his eye.

“No.” Her voice quivered.

“Second question, why are you cleaning the oven at three am?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” She waved a gloved hand around. The kitchen was spotless. Not that they had left it a mess after dinner, but now it practically shone – he was certain the sink was reflecting them.

“So, you started cleaning?”

“What are you doing up anyway?” Janine deflected his question. “You were asleep.”

“I am a heavy sleeper, Janine, but I don’t actually die. I notice when you’re not in bed and if I roll over and you’re not there, I worry.”

“I was hoping to avoid that.” She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing briefly.

“I’m afraid not. Now that I am awake – and worried – would you like to talk about it?”

“Egon, do you love me?”

“You know I do, very much.” He didn’t say it enough, he knew that. Those three words did not enter into his vocabulary in that order until he was forty years old. He’d never even heard them spoken until he’d met Janine. He had no habit or precedent for saying them and so often he did not - despite his feeling he rarely told her he loved her. It was something he struggled with, two years later. He had finally gotten them to stop sticking in his throat.

“ _Why_ do you love me?”

“I don’t understand the question.” He of course understood the words and meanings involved but it still took him aback. There was something wrong.

“You say you love me. But why? I’m just a secretary – I was _your_ secretary. I don’t even have a four-year degree! No one in my family has a four-year degree, we’re just a bunch of nobodies from Brooklyn. There are women more beautiful than I am, women who are smarter, wealthy, cultured, who are much more in your league than I am. You know – share your interests and your expertise, could help you with your work in substantive ways rather than just the filing. What the _hell_ are you doing with me?”

“What brought this on?” He demanded. This was the most insecurity she’d ever displayed in the time he had known her. Especially since it was unfounded. He most certainly was in a different league than she was – one considerably below her. She was gorgeous with beautiful eyes and cheeks that made him lose all reason when she smiled. Her figure was striking as well. She had the single best legs he had ever seen in his life. Her physical appearance aside she was funny and kind, loyal and patient.  She had such a capacity for joy as well. It was infectious. Had he ever truly been happy before he met Janine Melnitz?

“Egon…”

“No, Janine, what happened? This isn’t like you. Normally you’d know that I’m punching above my weight-class, as Winston once so “lovingly” put it, by dating you.”

“I had lunch with my mother today.” He’d known that, however normally Ruth Melnitz only inspired minor annoyance, not a full blown existential crisis. He waited for her to elaborate, stroking her cheek, feeling the tear tracks under his thumb.

“We ran into Dr. Parker’s wife, Dr. Whites, and Dr. Fergus’ wife.” Egon nodded slowly, he worked with Dr. Leigh Whites as well as Theodore Parker and Donovan Fergus. Parker was an engineer, Whites and Fergus were physicists. He vaguely recalled meeting his colleagues’ partners at the department party back in January but he probably wouldn’t be able to pick them out of a crowded restaurant. To be frank with himself, he’d spent most of that party counting down until he and Janine could go home without being rude. For one, he was not particularly comfortable in social situations like parties. For another Janine had debuted a sinfully well fitted royal purple velvet dress. Every time he looked at it all he could imagine was pulling it off of her with his teeth – which he did the minute they were home.

“They were waiting for their table when Mom and I arrived at the restaurant. I greeted them and none of them remember meeting me at that party. It was so awkward. I finally reminded them who I was and how we met. ‘Oh, Dr. Spengler’s _girlfriend_ ’. They started sniveling and condescending in equal measures then, you’re quite the name in the field, you know. Of course, not that I would know since I’m just a secretary.” Darwin Spengler or perhaps his Uncle Cyrus Spengler were bigger names in mainstream science than he was. Whites, Fergus, and Parker all sucked up to him but never wanted to hear about his work or research, only the Spengler Prize or R&D coming out of the lab in Ohio.

“Then when Mom and I finally sat at our table she just looked at me and asked, ‘Aren’t you a little old to be a _girl_ friend?’ If she wasn’t asking me about when I planned on having a family she wanted to know why we weren’t married yet.” Egon felt himself wince. She had seemed in lower spirits than usual that evening, but he hadn’t pressed. Mama Melnitz was as strong willed as her daughter, hearing her opinions aloud were something different, however.

Marriage. He and Janine had discussed the institution briefly a few times. Each conversation ended with them more or less agreeing that they didn’t feel any pressing need to marry. Neither were particularly religious. The lease was in both of their names, as were the utilities. When they moved in together they had even gone as far as to set up a joint bank account to pay the bills and other expenses out of. Even before they had begun dating, back when he was still a Ghostbuster, Egon had listed her as his next of kin since she lived closer than his mother. Aside from filing a joint tax return he and Janine were as linked as economic-civilly as any other married couple. And they loved one another. He had assumed she was satisfied with their life without taking vows in public.

Perhaps he had assumed too much.

As for children, the image of Janine placing a baby in his arms that was half him and half hers, resonated with him. It called to him in his sleep. He never thought he’d want to procreate, and yet the idea of becoming a father was now firmly lodged in his mind and in his heart. But they actually hadn’t discussed procreation yet. He thought she was amenable to the idea. He hoped and prayed, as much as a man of science could, that she would be interested in having a child with him. Perhaps he had misjudged everything.

“Do you want to get married, Janine?”

“I don’t want your proposal out of pity.”

“That wasn’t a proposal, it was a serious question, however.” He felt a little hurt that she assumed that was the best he could come up with for a marriage proposal. He was not well versed in romance, having grown up in a household where the concept was anathema, but he was not so utterly hopeless that he wouldn’t at least _try_ to make such an offer special. He was aware that proposing was supposed to be romantic and if he were to propose he would certainly put some thought into the presentation.

“Do you want to get married?” Janine stripped her rubber gloves off with a frustrated snap.

“I don’t know Egon. I really don’t. I love you but is a wedding really necessary?” She then mumbled under her breath, “Being married wouldn’t stop you from leaving me if you wanted to.”

“But why would I want to?” He asked, dropping his hand from her cheek to take her hand. “Why would I want to leave the most beautiful woman on the planet? What could possibly entice me away from this sparkling lady? My sexy, sweet Janine? The most patient, generous, funny, loyal, intelligent, warm, wise, practical, caring, empathetic person I’ve ever met? Could anyone make me as good of a man as you help me to be?” He pulled her close and held her tight.

“Janine, you are the best part of me.” She wrapped herself around him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t know why this backed up on me like that.” She said into his chest, clearly chagrined.

“Well, for one thing Leigh Whites is a bitch.” He’d rarely met anyone quite as condescending as the Physicist, and considering he’d caught her both eyeing the Spengler Prize and his ass he had some idea about why the afternoon went as it did.

“Come back to bed, My Love.”

  **X**  

April 1990

Janine woke with a start. Between the baby’s hiccups and the fact, it took up the room her bladder used to have she was accustomed to waking up once or twice in the middle of the night. This however, was different. Yes, she had to pee, but that was not what was on her mind.

The other side of the bed was empty.

Egon had gone to bed with her that night. She remembered it clearly as he had spent the quiet five minutes they always spent cuddling together explaining Newton’s first law to her stomach, his large, warm hand tracing patterns over the skin as he spoke. His voice never ceased to make her heart flutter with its deep timber and warmth. She had fallen asleep not long after they rolled onto their respective sides, growing a baby was hard work and she was frequently fatigued by the end of the day.

The humor that she had slept through Egon getting out of bed was not lost on her as she toddled first to the bathroom. Bladder empty she padded on slightly swollen feet into the living room. A light in the kitchen told her not only her partner’s location but also an insight into his mind. Over the years he had learned that when she was stressed and unable to sleep she cleaned the kitchen. She only hoped she’d woken up in time before he started cleaning the oven.

Egon stood at the sink, elbow deep in soap suds, two of four burner grates air drying on a dish cloth on the counter. He was so absorbed in his scrubbing he didn’t hear her approach. He was wearing what he’d worn to bed that night, his undershirt and a pair of plaid boxers, but he looked like hell. His hair stood up all over his head, higher and wilder than usual, as if he’d been running his hands through it all night. Dark stubble clung to his strong jaw line. Despite years together it was still a rare moment to see him unshaved. In the overhead light the sprinkle of silver streaks in his hair and beard glittered.

“Egon?” Her husband jumped, splashing water all over the counter and his front.

“Are you trying to give me a heart attack? My chances of such are increased at my age you know.”

“Your heart seemed to be doing just fine yesterday.”  Her pregnancy hormones were through the roof, in her second trimester they had transitioned from making her nauseous to making her insanely horny. She’d dragged him into the shower with her that morning. They’d probably used all of the warm water in the building but the intensity with which he’d taken her up against the wall had been so hot she didn’t even care. He’d supported her and her extra heft with ease and he’d abandoned any pretense of restraint as he thrusted, making it delightfully clear how sexy he still found her, despite the fact she was now showing.

Usually when she mentioned their lovemaking his face would twist into a leer at the memories. Not now. _He must be in a bad way_. 

“Egon, what’s going on?”

“I’m going to be forty-six.”

“In _November_.” And she was going to be thirty-eight in October. The doctor had gone over what “advanced age at pregnancy” could mean for their chances at conceiving and the health of their child at birth. It was a concern they had taken seriously, especially after the miscarriage. Women over thirty-five had a 20-35% chance of miscarriage and other pregnancy complications. It had taken a year before they thought about trying again. But if the recent tests were to be believed she and the child were not at risk for complications.

“The fact remains! I am an old man, and I will be an even older man when our child goes to school. Hell, I could be dead before they graduate college.”

“You could get hit by a bus and die tomorrow. Death comes for everyone eventually.” She gestured to her belly, protruding over the elastic of her panties, distinctly pregnant. “It’s a little late to go back now. You’re going to be a Dad in three months, aged forty-five.”

“I don’t know how to be a Dad.” He ran his hands through his hair, adding dish soap to the disheveled locks.

“I don’t know how to be a Mom. That’s why we have the books, Dana said parenthood was 50% research and 100% winging it.” Dana Wallace nee Barrett soon to be Venkman was a godsent. A mother and familiar with the Ghostbusters’ personality quirks and occupational hazards she had steadfastly supported Janine throughout her relationship with Egon and in particular the two years that they had tried and failed to conceive.

Dana knew about their five false hopes and their tragedy. She’d been with her when she bought her first pregnancy test, excited and hopeful. She had been the one to throw it away after it came back negative. When Egon had to go back to work after her miscarriage he had asked Dana to come over and be with Janine when he could not. And when they finally crossed the thirteenth week mark and felt confident in announcing their news Dana had been the first of the adopted family they had called. The next day she had arrived at their apartment with the top five best-selling books on pregnancy and parenting the bookstore offered. “I know you like to do your research” she had explained to Egon. Dana was one of the few people who could bring a sincere smile to his face.

“I’ve read the books. I don’t recognize any of what they’re talking about.” There was an entire lab notebook full of annotations to prove his careful attention to the texts.

“What do you mean?” He ran his hands through his hair again, the suds dissipating.

“The books. They talk about … being affectionate with your children; holding them, cuddling, _loving them_.” His last words sucked the air out of the room. For not the first time Janine cursed Darwin Spengler with everything she had in her English and Yiddish vocabulary, plus the few Spanish phrases she recalled from High School. What he had done to his son was beyond the pale. What he had done to his own family – the very decision to create a family and then treat them like science experiments and burdens. If he was not already dead Janine was not entirely sure she wouldn’t kill him.

“How can I be a good father,” he continued, “when I didn’t have a good example? What…What if I’m like him?” He whispered his last fear and Janine felt her heart break. Acting on instinct she took his hand, still damp from cleaning, and wordlessly pulled him into the living room, forcing him to sit down on the sofa. Once he was seated she arranged herself in his lap, back resting against the arm. She draped his arms around her, making sure one large hand spread over her stomach so that he could feel their baby as well. In the dim light cast from the kitchen his wedding band glittered. He had been wound tighter than a knit, but as his fingers stroked her stomach she could feel him relax. His jaw was rough as sandpaper under her palm.

“The only thing you have in common with your father, Egon Huxley Spengler, is your surname. You are capable of love. You have more than just a heart, you have a heart as deep as the Atlantic Ocean. Hear this truth: you will be a wonderful father. You will be a wonderful father because you are the most patient and kind man I have ever met. You are a selfless and brave man who has twice nearly scarified himself to protect others. You show your love in so many important ways, you are a man of action rather than words and that means I am the best taken care of woman in New York. Our child will be well taken care of because it is in your nature to protect, to preserve, to think of others needs as well as your own.” She fans her thumb over his cheek bone, feeling his rough stubble transition to smooth skin and back again. Tears well behind his glasses but he does not try to swipe them away. This, she knows, is a change from how he once was. Crying was undignified and suspect. Emotional displays were not to be tolerated.

“I don’t know how to be a mom either, and I’m scared too. I was terrified when you suggested that we try to have a family. Do you remember that? When you just blurted it out one night?” They had been sitting in bed, she reading, he calculating, and he just looked over and asked _do you want to start a family? And by family, I mean me impregnating you._

He nodded.

“I couldn’t sleep that night for thinking about what you had just asked – trying to figure out how I felt. You know what pulled me back from the edge? I reminded myself that you love me, and that I love you. Come what may, Gibraltar is no stronger a foundation than that.”

She kissed him.

“I’m scared too. I’m terrified in fact. But I am also entirely confident that together we can – we will – figure out what we need to do to give our child the best life possible.”

He said nothing. He could say nothing. Tears continued to roll down his cheeks and catch in his stubble. He held her tight, tucking her head under his chin, one arm warm around her shoulders, other hand under her nightshirt, stretched protectively over their child. Silence covered them both like a blanket. She could feel the exact moment he dozed off, the tension that had gripped him like a fist dissipating into the night.

“Egon.” She hates to wake him up now that he’s peaceful, but he will break his neck if he sleeps upright on the sofa. She clamors out of his lap, it’s not an easy position to get out of gracefully even when she wasn’t pregnant, but now that she’s showing…. Well it was a good thing the blinds were closed. Her struggling wakes him. With a soft smile she extends her hand,

“Come back to bed, My Love.”


	15. Regarding you, Regarding love

**Summary:** Prompt from the-musical-cc: Where does he subconsciously slide into notions about love that are just his family’s? example, children shouldn’t have toys, only educational aids/objects. This is perhaps not subconscious but is certainly a look at how … different Egon’s childhood was compared to others and how that then impacts his relationship with Janine.

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Notes: Title taken from the 1984 song, “Me gustas tal como eres” recommended by the-musical-cc. This story takes place starting in October 1984 and then into 1985._

* * *

 

 The first time Janine said “I love you” it was immediately in the wake of Gozer. She had flown into his arms when he emerged from Dana Barrett’s apartment building and he had held her tight, as naturally as he drew his next breath.

“I love you,” she said searching his face for injury, “don’t you _ever_ scare me like that again.” He had kissed her then, in full view of thousands and smiled.

“I promise.”

**X**

A few weeks after the final battle Egon had asked her for coffee. They had gotten a cuppa and bear claw to go and walked around Flushing Meadows. She had asked him point blank if it was a date as they had stood and admired the Unisphere. He had turned and considered her then, his dark eyes sweeping over her with a warmth she had only seen in passing before.

“Venkman has informed me that a date is when two people spend time together for the express purpose of exploring romantic inclinations – and that I have to pay. I believe this would qualify?” He raised his eyebrows at her, waiting for a response.

“I’ll only object to the part about you always having to pay.” She said with a smile, reaching out to touch his arm. “Otherwise, yes, I would like this to qualify as a date.”

Since that initial cup of coffee, they had been on many dates, Janine making a point of paying for them both at least a third of the time and them paying their individual way another third of the time.

 

They made love the first time on New Year’s Eve, the orgasm he’d carefully teased from her far superior than any quick peck at midnight.

 

Every weekend in 1985 found them staying together, alternating apartments. Janine’s home was more comfortable, but Egon’s was closer to the Firehouse and both he and Ray were quite hands-on in the rebuilding of the Ghostbusters headquarters.

**X**

The first Valentine’s Day weekend since they began dating, Janine came down with a nasty case of the flu – aches, pains, fever, chills, and so much head congestion she felt like she’d been punched in the face. Egon had installed himself on her sofa and made sure she drank at least eight ounces of water or tea every hour. He had even tried his hand at making his mother’s Chicken and Matzo ball soup – although she was glad for her fatigue, depressed appetite, and complete inability to taste things, (the soup had made her cry, first because it was the kindest gesture anyone had ever made, and second because Egon Spengler was a horrible cook).

Falling asleep after the effort required to sit up, eat, and hold light conversation, Janine can only think of one thing – She _loves_ him. In the truly, madly, deeply sense of the word. Her last thought before slipping off into Morpheus’ embrace was

“ _I Love You_.”

When she wakes again after her nap, Egon is taking her temperature, the strangest look in his eyes. It is as if he’s discovered the secrets of the universe. For her own part Janine cannot tell what was real and what was a fever dream.

The second time Janine said “I love you” she cannot recall if she said the words aloud or not.

**X**

The third time Janine said “I love you” she was healthy, sober, and they were not in the middle of or directly after an apocalyptic crisis. It was, in fact, a Tuesday. It was the first warm night of May and they walked arm in arm around Central Park enjoying ice cream cones.

**_~_ **

She tasted like brown butter bourbon truffle and the intangible concept of home and safe. Something no woman had a right to taste like because the entire concept was so abstract. Yet she did. Janine pulls away from his kiss slowly, lowering herself down from tip toe.

“I love you.” She says, looking up at him with her beautiful hazel eyes. He can see himself in their depths, himself and everything that is good and right in the world. He feels contentment deep within him, radiating up and out from his very core. She always had a way of touching him deeper than he even knew existed. He never understood when romantic media described someone’s heart taking flight but now he did, the metaphor only made sense if you felt it.  He felt himself smile, the expression coming to his face instinctually.

Janine’s expression faded. The light in her eyes snuffing out. Suddenly there was pain. She looked away. The loss of eye contact was like a punch to the gut, painful and completely unexpected.

“Janine?” Absently he realizes what was left of his ice cream cone has melted down his fingers, cold and sticky. He can’t bring himself to care, however. She’s walking away from him, her posture wounded and sad.

“Janine, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She is doing the worst impression of someone casually eating ice cream he’s ever seen in his life. In two long strides he is beside her again. She resolutely stares ahead rather than looking at him. Nothing his left foot.

“Please,” he begs softly, “I’ve hurt you.”

“You haven’t Egon, not intentionally. I assumed, and I was mistaken.”

“Assumed what? I don’t understand.” She drew a deep breath through her nose, holds it for a moment and exhales through her mouth.

“You don’t understand.” She repeats.

“I do not.”

“I said I love you.”

“Yes, I know.” That was apparently the wrong answer, the hurt in her eyes grew, he could feel it. Hurting her was like slicing open his own hand and rubbing salt into his palm.

“And I mean it, Egon, _I love you_.” The way she said those three words tells him that they are important. They mean something, something more than just what they mean. For the life of him, however, he does not understand the significance. She studied his face intently, her eyes leaving his face hot with the intensity of their gaze. Not knowing what to say he said nothing.

“Egon, do you love me?”

“What?” She winces like he struck her. “Janine, where does this question come from?”

“You’re supposed to say it back. If you love me. If you love me and I say I love you, you’re supposed to say I love you too. But if you don’t, I don’t want to force you.” She’s crying now. He made her cry. _But if you don’t [love me] I don’t want to force you. But if you don’t…_

“But I do.” His voice is soft and awed. Love. That was the word he was looking for, the name that has eluded him for his feelings. The feelings he’d felt since well before the world almost ended. He loved her.

Egon Spengler loved Janine Melnitz.

“What?” Her head snaps up to look at him, the tracks of her tears visible in the may sunlight.

“I do love you.” The word tastes foreign on his tongue. As foreign as the concept seemed before he realized that he had already fallen in love with the petite woman in front of him, he just had not learned the name of what he felt.

“I don’t want you to say it out of obligation.” The warmth and openness in her eyes are gone, locked behind doors of steel. She is cut off from him, as far away as Siberia though technically less than an arm’s distance away.

“I don’t.” He licked his lips, they are suddenly dry. He plunged ahead. “No one has ever said those words to me, Janine, how was I to know what to do with them?” Darwin Spengler had maintained until the day he died that love was a chemical imbalance in the brain, a dangerous one at that. It was not something that should be allowed to rule a person. In choosing a life partner love was too volatile of a risk. Capitalism had made such a defect a popular fiction for its own gains.

Janine was staring at him.

“You’re joking. Surly your parents…”

“No.” He shook his head. With all of his imagination he could not fathom his father speaking the word love, save with a sneer.

“…did they say it to each other?” Her voice was small as she asked the question.

“Never that I can recall. Such emotional displays were undignified.” His father would not have stood for such “drivel” or vulnerability. He had learned at a young age to suppress any feeling he might have, except for the instances when they were necessary to save his life. He had been praised by teachers his whole life for his “maturity” and his father had acknowledged his achievement – the closest thing Darwin Spengler showed to pride. It had reinforced his commitment to denying feelings. Unfortunately, he was now a forty-year-old man who had little comprehension of what he was feeling or how to ameliorate outbursts he had – particularly his anger. Denying his feelings for decades meant that he managed to hurt deeply and unknowingly the one woman for whom he’d give a very part of himself to protect.

“Oh, Egon.” She was crying. Why was she crying? Before he could ask about her tears Janine threw her arms around his neck, completely forgetting that her hand was covered in ice cream. When she held him close he found himself unable to care too much about the fact they were both becoming increasingly sticky and that he would undoubtedly need to take the vest he was wearing to the dry cleaners to remove the caramel sauce.

“Oh Egon, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be. My father was wrong. Love is more than just a chemical defect in the brain. I love you Janine. I didn’t return your sentiment not because I don’t feel the same. I promise I will try to say it more, I can learn.” He could, he had several PhDs that could attest to the fact he was trainable. Peter would likely be of help as well, the man was many things, among them a shrewd student of human relations and romantic relationships.

“Egon, I don’t want you to change on my account. My heart likes you just the way you are. I am sorry I made you say it when you have shown me in innumerable ways how much you care. I’m sorry.”

Words failed him, so he did the only other thing he could do with his mouth. He kissed her. He kissed her and hoped that it could say everything he couldn’t put into words.

_I love you._


	16. Shampoo Mohawk

**Summary:** Inspired by the ubiquitous photos of babies in bathtubs, also shampoo mohawks and a reason to use the phrase “unwaxed lady garden”, also also the idea of Egon being interested in nude photos of Janine before the era of sexting.

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: Violet is a little older in this story, probably over a year, which means it takes place sometime in 1991. (it’s only a) paper moon is a song performed by many, including Natalie Cole and her father Nat King Cole. Ferrara Bakery and Café is one of the oldest bakeries in New York and located in the Little Italy neighborhood._

* * *

 

_“_ _Yes, it’s only a canvas sky_ _hanging over a muslin tree,but it wouldn't be make believeif you believed in me.._ _.”_

Violet has gone from hating bath time to loving it – running around naked with joy loving it. Especially when she gets to shower with Mummy. Janine still sings to her, but not because she screams bloody murder.

_“_ _Without your love_ _It's a honky-tonk parade.Without your loveIt's a melody playedin a penny arcade. It's a Barnum and Bailey world- Just as phony as it can be, but it wouldn't be make-believeIf you believe in me.._ _.”_

Janine spikes her daughter’s hair up into a Mohawk with shampoo. It is long enough to look absolutely punk rock and she loves it, Violet finds it fairly amusing as well. Janine allows Violet to style her hair with shampoo. Her daughter isn’t dexterous enough to give her a proper mohawk, but Violet is giggling like mad as she plays, and Janine knows they look ridiculous. _God Bless the disposable camera_ she thinks as she pulls the shower curtain back.

And screams.

“Egon! KNOCKING!” He stands in the open _en suite_ door.

“Had the door been closed I would have.” His observant brown eyes flick over Violet resting on her hip, her hair shaped in a perfect hawk. His gaze turns to her, taking in her spiky locks and then lingering on her nude form. He desires her – she can see it glowing in his eyes.

“Fair point.” She shrugs, then nods to the disposable camera which sits on the vanity beside the sink and Violet’s pajamas. She has taken to keeping one in almost every room of the apartment, so they can capture every moment of Violet’s childhood as it happens.[1]“Since you’re here would you mind taking a picture of us?”

“Janine,” He says, picking up the camera, “You do realize that these photos will have to be developed by someone else.” Janine first adjusts her grip on Violet so that her daughter has some degree of modesty, then holds her up to provide herself with some. She assumes that Egon will zoom in enough to not get her unwaxed lady garden in the picture.

“Oh pish, present company excluded, who would pay that much attention to a nudie picture of me?” After making Egon laugh, Janine enjoys nothing more than making him scowl at the things that come out of her mouth – which he does now. His ears do turn faintly pink however. _Something to think about for his birthday._ Egon takes two pictures and then places the camera back on the vanity.

“I’ll leave you two to finish your shower.”

“There are cannoli in the kitchen, Egon.” Janine calls after him, “I stopped by Ferrara on my way home.”

“Da!” Violet says happily.

“Let’s finish your bath first, Violet.”

 

* * *

 

[1]You could argue that this is clear first child behavior, and you’d probably be right. I also imagine that Egon is worried that being a Ghostbuster he’ll miss important moments and milestones with his daughter because of the irregular hours he keeps so Janine does her best to document what she can, and Egon makes a point of being very present when he is with his daughter – to make the most of the time he does have.


	17. Christopher Robin is saying his prayers

**Summary** : An interlude. “Scent is important in bonding between child and family.” She tells him, “It’s how she knows I’m Mummy and that she’s safe. I know you’re wearing an undershirt, you want to cuddle her as close to your skin as you can so that she can start to recognize you as safe.”

**Pairings** : Janine Melnitz/Egon Spengler  
 _Makes an appearance: newborn Violet_

**Disclaimer** :I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: I imagine this conversation taking place within the first month of Violet’s life, so like July of 1990, while Egon is figuring out what Paternity leave means. Also, of course the Ghostbusters have paternity leave._

* * *

 

“Would you like to read to her?” Janine asks after Violet is dressed for bed. She nods toward the glider in the corner beside the crib.

“May I?” He asks, his hands are behind his back.

“No, I was offering to hear myself speak.” She has never known Egon to ask such an obvious question in his life. _This is all very new to him too_ a voice in her head that sounds vaguely like her father reminds her.

“Touché, Mrs. Spengler, touché.” He moves to sit in the glider.

“Before you get comfortable, take off your shirt.” He stares at her. _Gold star Janine you’ve in the course of one night flustered him into silence, stupid questions, and now staring._

“Scent is important in bonding between child and family.” She tells him, “It’s how she knows I’m Mummy and that she’s safe. I know you’re wearing an undershirt, you want to cuddle her as close to your skin as you can so that she can start to recognize you as safe.” He nods, slowly, and reaches to untuck his shirt. “It’s also important that you begin to speak with her and read to her – it doesn’t matter what you say or what you read but it helps her learn the sound of your voice and will aid with language acquisition.” He begins unbuttoning the placket, his sharp brown eyes staring at her with, if he were any other man, describe as wonder.

“You really are well suited for this.” He says, placing his neatly folded oxford shirt on the dresser. She beams at the compliment. She doesn’t feel well suited for motherhood most of the time, but she loves Violet, so she tries her best.

“Lifted straight from _What to Expect When You’re Expecting._ ” He settles into the rocking chair and Janine settles Violet into his arms. He holds her close to his chest and reaches for the book she hands him. _Now We Are Six_ by A.A. Milne.

“How are you supposed to do this one handed?” He looks up at her.

 “Having a prop helps.” She grabs the kidney shaped pillow off of the floor beside the chair. He nods, gets comfortable, and opens the book to the page she had marked.

“Little Boy kneels at the foot of the bed,

Droops on the little hands little gold head.

Hush! Hush! Whisper who dares!

Christopher Robin is saying his prayers.”


	18. Pray for Rosemary's Baby

**Summary:** “Who the f*ck thought it was ok to watch Rosemary’s Baby with a pregnant person?”

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different. 

_Author’s Notes: Rosemary’s Baby – Novel by Ira Levin, 1967, the film with Mia Farrow came out in 1968. Honestly just doing cursory research for this reminded me of the one time I saw the movie and it freaked me out. Levin is way too good at what he does. “They All Laughed” was written by George and Ira Berlin. Recently it has been covered by Tony Bennett and Lady Gaga on their 2014 album Cheek to Cheek._

* * *

_Rock him. Roman Castevet ordered Janine, her auburn hair standing out against the baby blue dressing gown._

_“You’re trying to get me to be his mother.”_

_“Aren’t you his mother?” He could hear people chanting hail Satan. The baby in the bassinet had goat’s eyes._

Egon woke screaming, his long legs tangled in the bedsheets, his chest heaving.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

“Egon?!” Janine was awake beside him, dressed not in a nightgown but one of his pajama tops, most of the buttons undone because even with their size difference the baby bump strained the fabric.

It was a dream. Just a dream.

Despite his racing heart he gently laid a hand on his wife’s stomach. Their baby was inactive, likely sleeping – as they should be. Feeling the smooth, firm skin of Janine’s stomach helped him anchor. This was real. This was their life. Janine was no Mia Farrow. The fates, not Ira Levin dictated their lives. None of them were witches.

“Do you want to talk about it, Sweetheart?” Her smaller hand covered his on her stomach.

“Who the fuck thought it was ok to watch Rosemary’s Baby with a pregnant person?” He growled.

Peter Venkman was who the fuck thought it was HILARIOUS to rent Rosemary’s Baby for May’s movie night. Janine had only tolerated it because he also brought her the biggest pickle on the island of Manhattan – which was exactly what she had been craving.

“Wait… you had a Rosemary’s Baby nightmare?” the only thing that kept Janine from laughing aloud was the fact her partner looked like he might cry or be sick or both. He was pale. Paler than usual and his undershirt was soaked with sweat.

“How is it that between the two of us YOU had the dream about me giving birth to the antichrist?” After several deep breaths in through his nose and out through his mouth the Physicist was calm enough to give her a faint smile.

“Just lucky I guess.” Another few breaths. “Don’t pregnancy hormones give you extremely vivid dreams?”

“Yeah,” Janine shrugged. She’d had some fucked-up dreams in recent months but none of them were Roman Polanski worthy.[1]“Last one I had you and I were dancing like Astaire and Rogers duetting “They All Laughed” dressed like we were going to prom.” _Ho, ho, ho who’s got the last laugh now?_ The Egon in her dreams was much lighter on his feet and his deep voice was more melodious. The Egon in her bed began to laugh. He was probably a little hysterical and his humor shook the bed.

“What?”

“Thank you, my Dear, that was exactly what I needed.” His terror and his laughter subsided Egon laid down again and spooned against Janine. While he was ready to try sleeping again he still needed the reassurance that all was well.

 

_They laughed at me wanting you_  
Said I was reaching for the moon  
But oh, you came through  
Now they'll have to change their tune

_They all said we never could be happy_  
They laughed at us and how!  
But ho, ho, ho!  
Who's got the last laugh now?

* * *

 

[1]Roman Polanski, MAJOR creep who happens to also be an award-winning director. I really hate how good Rosemary’s Baby is considering how much I don’t like Polanski.


	19. Every Evening - Do the Dishes

**Summary** : The most domestic framing tools of all – Cleaning and Chores!

**Pairing(s)** : Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz, mentions of Peter Venkman/Dana Barrett, specifically their breakup.

**Disclaimer** : I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note:_ _This piece is ca. February 1987. This piece, and some others are based on this insane cleaning schedule one guy posted on imgur that got tons of coverage, including from the Daily Mail. I’ve turned each of his chores into a different prompt. This also involves some pontificating on the nature of relationships by moi. For what it’s worth, my advice:_ _Get yourself a partner who does the dishes and doesn't outwardly judge when you sing "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" at the top of your off-key lungs._

* * *

 

 For a long time, they sat in companionable silence both staring into their drinks. Janine desperately wanted to ask, but also knew how much she hated the question when it had been aimed at her. She would have to let Dana tell her on her own time. And if that meant ordering a second glass of wine, so be it.

“You know, when Peter and I stared dating it was great.” Second Sazerac in hand Dana finally felt relaxed enough to move past banal commentaries on their respective days and the weather.  “He was funny and charming and attractive – the sex was excellent. Life was fun.” Out of respect Janine refrained from gagging at the mention of Peter Venkman’s sexual success.

“We agreed that him splitting his time between the firehouse and my apartment was the right decision. Independent and secure like Mia Farrow and Woody Allen, we could wave at each other across the park.[1]Together when we wanted to be and apart when we needed to be.”

It was odd to hear Dana describe the arrangement, be supportive of it even. When Janine had heard it from Peter she’d immediately thought like it sounded like the perfect way for him to get out of commitment, to have his cake and eat it too. To be fair, the man never actually cheated, that she was aware of, but he also never hesitated to flirt with a pretty woman either. But then Janine also knew she shouldn’t judge, she and Egon were different people. They had almost immediately started spending weekends together after they started dating, alternating apartments until he moved back into the firehouse and then, once Ghostbusters was up and running again, he stayed at her place. They’d started dating in November, by February he had a drawer in her dresser and toiletries on her vanity.

“We had some good times together.” Dana stared sadly into her drink before downing about half of it in a single gulp. Completely unfazed by the burn of rye whiskey. “He really is one of the funniest men I’ve ever met. And astute. Good conversationalist…” Her mind drifted but soon she shook herself and looked over at Janine. Her eyes were sad, sad and so clearly trying not to be.

“And then we went to dinner over at your new place. You remember, back in December?” Janine did, vividly. It was supposed to be a housewarming dinner party. The first she was able to throw in her and Egon’s new home. She had intended to invite the guys – Winston and his girlfriend, Ray, Peter and Dana. But then Egon had gotten the grant from the University to start researching again and Ray didn’t – throwing a long friendship on the rocks. He didn’t come. Winston and Layla had agreed but then had to cancel last minute because Winston had come down with the flu. The party had dwindled to a double date.

“You made that amazing chicken saltimbocca and we sat around the dinner table for hours laughing and talking.” Dana finished her Sazerac. “And after dessert was finished Egon just got up, without a word, picked up our plates, came back out with the rest of the bottle of wine…kissed your cheek and went into the kitchen and began doing the dishes.” Tears filled Dana’s eyes. For a moment she sat and willed them to dissipate. Only one or two breached her long lashes. Janine studied her friend. It seemed strange to see her crying her beautiful eyes out over Egon doing the dishes.

“Peter went into the kitchen and harassed Egon as he cleaned, and you topped up my glass and just casually said, ‘Egon always does the dishes if I cook’. And continued on as if it was nothing. And you talked about how you were going over to your sister’s for Hanukkah and that even though you don’t like Wagner you’d gotten Egon tickets.” From their passing waiter they ordered another round of drinks.

“When he was done with the dishes Egon just came back in the living room, picked up his wine glass and sat down on the sofa and continued the conversation.”

“Dana this is a great summary of the domestication of a scientist, but I don’t …” She was cut off by the swing of Dana’s curly head as she shook it, a sad smile on her lips.

“You wouldn’t understand it because you live it.”

A long pause. Janine sipped her wine and waited. Dana shifted around in her mind until she collected the right words.

“Peter never did the dishes. And if he did he’d want a metal after for services above and beyond ‘the call of duty’. In the year we were together he never once willingly spent time with my family. I could ask him to come with me to events, but he was never willing to compromise, if he didn’t find it interesting he wouldn’t go – even if it was important to me.”

“Egon and you – you’re willing to put in the work of a relationship, the day to day mundane shit. The dishes, the family. Doing something for no other reason than it makes your partner happy. Partner! Like you’re equal in a relationship. Peter never did that. Peter didn’t even seem like it crossed his mind! Oh, he was great for the drama and romance, the high times and the sex. And I loved it – but the rest of it? I need someone for every day too.” Dana wiped her eyes and took a deep breath. Janine reached out and took her friend’s hand. She could absolutely understand Dana’s decision to end the relationship. The constant ball and chain jokes he threw at her and Egon were wearying enough as it was but easy enough to ignore. He was just their asshole friend, not her partner.

“Waiter,” she announced, draining her wine glass in one long draw, “another round!”

* * *

[1]Farrow and Allen were together from 1979 until 1992, so in like 1987 this reference isn’t as … sad/funny/ironic as it is in retrospect. Also I think we didn't fully learn of Allen's creepiness until about 1992 so that also helps make this reference slightly less icky. 


	20. Buckingham Palace

**Buckingham Palace**

* * *

 

**Summary:** Late night feedings. Obliquely inspired by the Royal wedding. 

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: This takes place when Violet is very young, therefore the latter half of 1990._

* * *

 

The first quick intake of air precipitating a shrill wail wakes Janine but as she moves to retrieve her daughter a firm hand holds her still.

“I’ll get her.” Egon says sleepily, she can feel him moving his solid frame to the edge of the bed to stand. Once upon a time he slept like the dead. Since bringing Violet home, however, his rest is much lighter. She still wakes up with every creak of the apartment, but he now is alert to every time Violet shifts in her sleep.

“I forgot to pump.” Janine realizes, sliding to the edge of the bed herself. Normally she would have pumped and had a bottle of milk ready for late night feeding. The day, however, had been long and not conducive to routines. They had developed a rhythm for Violet’s nights. Egon, who generally worked late into the night would check on Violet when she cried late at night. Janine, a habitually early riser, would take care of the early morning moments. Both woke up when she cried but the division made determining who had to get out of bed fairer. And easier than arguing over who’s “turn” it was. Egon lumbers to the nursery, calling over his shoulder

“I’ll bring her to you then.”

Egon is not bad at holding Violet. Egon Spengler is not bad at anything (except for perhaps, discussing his feelings but she will not embark on that train of thought). He is not, however, entirely comfortable holding Violet. She can see the tension in his muscles through his undershirt as he approaches her. Janine has already arranged the pillows on the bed to prop her up against the headboard and her fingers are making quick work of her pajama top.

Once upon a time she would have made an attempt at being seductive as she opens her top. It seems so far away as her breasts ache – Violet has a rhythm that she’s gotten very used to – but still she giggles sleepily at how unlike the other times this moment is.

“What?” He yawns as he passes their crying child to her waiting arms and breast. Violet latches on easily, she loves to eat and knows how to get her meals. Janine looks over at Egon who settles himself on his side of the bed, sitting up to watch Violet nurse.

“There was a time when this’d have been you.” She nods toward their daughter greedily suckling her breast. "How things have changed. Not very sexy is it?" Egon lightly brushes the curls from Violet’s forehead. Her hair is dark like his, curly as well but has more red tones in it, like Janine.

“Proof that a mate can provide for the survival of the offspring is a desirable quality." He says looking up at her through his lashes.

Janine smiles and when Violet is done nursing Egon takes her back to the nursery. Violet is easier to put down after night feedings, a short rock in the chair and maybe one song and she’s out like a light. Janine buttons just enough of her sleep top to keep the material together and her chest warm and curls up under the covers once again. On the monitor she can hear Egon’s deep voice quietly reciting “Buckingham Palace”. She is asleep by the time he returns to bed.


	21. Baby Photos

**Summary:** Egon Spengler has two framed photos on his desk.

**Pairing(s):** Implied Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz  
 **Disclaimer :** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: This was supposed to be a 100-word angst drabble. Oops. Is this what an Egon Spengler & you story looks like? This is set circa 1997._

* * *

 

Egon Spengler has two framed photos on his desk. The only personal touches in the entire office, really, aside from his framed doctorates. And it is debatable if those are personal mementos or aggressive declarations of the scientific background of the paranormal research being conducted. His desk is nearly impossible to see beneath the piles and piles of papers, printouts, and blueprints. He protests that there is a logic to the piles, a filing system he understands, despite the appearance of chaos. However, as he shifts and shuffles papers the claim becomes less and less credible.

The coffee he offers is obscenely strong and served in a chipped MIT mug. He drinks his own cup (Harvard), doctored several shades lighter with creamer he produced from an ancient minifridge covered in stickers – some of them clearly intended for bumpers, at least two of Disney princesses – Ariel and Belle peeking out amongst the brands and slogans. 

The first photo, 5x7 and in landscape, is framed in simple silver. The photo is easily dated, because of the quality of the image, the fashion worn and the jaundiced time stamp in the lower corner – 12/21/92. The sofa, green and overstuffed, contrasts with the auburn of the women’s hair and her fair skin. She is asleep, laying on her side, head on a gray pillow and wrapped up in an oatmeal colored throw. She is the big spoon for a small girl, her dark curly locks wild about her face, her head pillowed on the woman’s arm. She is wrapped up in a smaller blanket, clearly knit with care, and already showing wear – befitting being the most prized possession of the girl. Stretched across mother and daughter is a seal-point cat, making clear that it would not be left out of naptime, even if it could no longer be the lady’s little spoon.

The second photo, 4x6 and in portrait, was framed in gold. It is most shocking in how different the subject looked from the man behind the desk. A much younger Egon Spengler was _smiling_ , broad and bright. His hair was thick and dark, without the strands of silver that dominate his head today. In his arms was a little boy, perhaps a year old. Dexterous enough to grab the glasses off of the man’s face and bring them to his own, one small hand holding the pair by the lens. The boy’s face suggested that he was seeing the mysteries of the universe, his mouth was in an awed ‘oh’. Looking through the glasses his brown eyes seemed comically large. 5/21/94 the date stamp read.

“Aha!” He has found the papers he was searching for. Thumbing through them he nods to the photos. “My children. Violet will be seven soon and Edison is four.” He does not smile as he does in the photo, but his expression softens as he looks at the frames. It is a rare moment, fleeting quickly but deeply authentic. For a few seconds he is not Egon Spengler, Doctor of Philosophy in Physics, Microbiology, and Parapsychology, nor is he Egon Spengler, Ghostbuster. Rather he is Egon Spengler, husband and father. Just a man rather than a list of achievements.


	22. Good Vibrations

**Summary:** Inspired by [this quote/scene](https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0638459/quotes/qt0274152?mavIsAdult=false&mavCanonicalUrl=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.imdb.com%2Ftitle%2Ftt0638459%2Fquotes)from season two of M*A*S*H and [this gifset](http://trivialqueen.tumblr.com/post/174190852810)/SNL clip.

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: This is set circa 1985/86, after Janine and Egon start dating but before the closure of business._

* * *

 

Of all the sounds he’d heard coming from downstairs, he really should have expected a moan. Especially since Spegs had gotten his shit together and asked out their plucky secretary. He had had no idea that Spegs was even aware of sex, in all the years Peter’d known him he’d never expressed interest. But since Janine the Physicist never spent a weekend at the firehouse and his face when he came to work on Monday… Peter was never wrong about sexual tension and intercourse. If Egon wasn’t interested in sex before he was certainly interested in sex now.

But back to the moan. It didn’t sound like it came from balls deep, which meant they probably weren’t fucking…yet. It would be the perfect moment to interrupt them. Cockblocking Janine sounded like a very worthy endeavor. Plus, hadn’t Egon given him a stern talking to when they moved in about how the lab was for working only and totally off limits for any “entertaining”. Those “entertainments” had to be done elsewhere, preferably his own bed, and absolutely not the lab or anywhere they ate. Leave it to the mad scientist to break his own rule about lab sex.

Quietly Peter snuck down the stairs, one hand at the level of his eyes. Depending on the position he didn’t need to see that much of his friends. The only voyeurism he was into was the anonymous, professional kind pornography offered.

Egon and Janine were not making the cryptid with the two backs. Instead the inventor was sitting on a lab stool, tie off, glasses off, collar undone, his eyes closed and his mouth slightly open. Janine stood behind him, vibrating massager strapped to her hand.[1]She was working on an obvious knot in her partner’s shoulder, muttering something about posture. As she prodded he winced and then sighed heartily as the muscles relaxed.

“Well, it’s true what the old saying says,” Peter announced himself with a snarky smile. Janine and Egon both jumped. “Behind every great man is a woman with a vibrator.” He wiggled his eyebrows at them. It was disappointing but also a relief to not find them _in flagrante delicto_.[2]

“Why don’t you ever rub my shoulders?”

“You’re right, Peter, behind every great man there is a woman – a loving, giving, caring woman,” Janine didn’t miss a beat. She placed her non-vibrating hand on her partner’s shoulder, it seemed to sooth is initial embarrassment. As far as Peter was concerned the scene was innocent, but Egon was so repressed he probably felt naked and exposed sitting in his lab without his tie.

“But you wouldn’t know about that, Peter,” Janine continued, “because there’s no old saying about what’s behind a miserable failure.” Stone. Cold. If it wasn’t directed at him Peter would have clapped. Egon snorted. It was the most amused the man had looked in a long time.

“Goddamn.” He mumbled and turned toward the stairs.

“Oh, and Peter,” Egon called after him, his lips twitching. “Knocking before coming in the lab would probably be a good habit to get into for the future.”

* * *

 

[1]Despite Samantha Jones’ claims on Sex and the City there are shoulder massagers that aren’t just euphemisms for vibrators. Example: <https://www.hammacher.com/product/84233?sku=84233>. This being said, I’m pretty sure you could use a barbershop style massager for not your neck but that’s for a different story….

[2]Latin, literally in blazing offense. Often used to describe catching someone in the act – frequently catching them in the sex act. I’m not saying Egon isn’t kinky enough to not think about/enjoy doing the do in semi-public, like the lab, but sometimes a man just needs his shoulders rubbed. (see the-musical-cc’s [excellent short](http://the-musical-cc.tumblr.com/post/174113868854/alright-im-caving-in-heres-the-smut-this)for further details).


	23. 27 Boxes

**Summary:** Drabble length. Inspired by how many fucking boxes of books I have. I’m moving this summer. I’m up to 18 boxes and counting, this number not including all the boxes my fiancé will be shipping over from Germany. I’m going to lose so many friends with this move.

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz

**Disclaimer:** I don’t own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: This is set circa 1986, after the closure of Ghostbusters, Egon and Janine decide to move in together._

* * *

 

 “How many boxes of books do you have, Melnitz?” Peter groaned dramatically. He’d never had agreed to help her move if Dana hadn’t made him. He was more of a managerial type. But now that he was there he was going to complain, bitterly. Although to be fair, Winston had also had some choice words about her fifth-floor walkup.

“About twenty more where that came from.” She was proud of her little library, to hell with the spluttering from Venkman.

Egon appeared in the door, panting slightly. Despite the cold November weather, he was dressed in only a faded Ghostbusters tee and jeans.

“Spegs, man,” Venkman pronounced, heading for the stairs. “I’m happy for you and all but I am _never_ helping you move again.”

* * *

_Author's Note, the second: Feel free to comment either here or reach out to me on tumblr (parrottgal.tumblr.com) if you have comments, questions, or prompts. I'm exceedingly open to ideas, especially if it involves my favorite OTP being domestic and cute and sexy and wonderful._


	24. Once a Week - Do the Laundry

**Summary:** Once a week do your laundry. And if you’re lucky enough to have a washer and dryer of your own make sure all of your clothes make it in the cycle. ;) Smut.

**Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/ Janine Melnitz.

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s Note: I was listening to[Ravel’s Bolero](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZDiaRZy0Ak)as I wrote about 90% of this. Highly recommend, and I think Bo Derek would agree with me. This piece, and some others are based on this insane cleaning schedule one guy posted on imgur that got tons of coverage, including from the Daily Mail. I’ve turned each of his chores into a different prompt. It occurs in roughly August of 1987. Not that it is relevant to this story, but it is after Egon and Janine have decided to try and have a child. Although they do not get pregnant this time it is perhaps for the best since you know that Peter would forever refer to the child as “Bent over the washing machine” Spengler._

* * *

 

“Janine-” Egon turned the corner and stopped dead, what he was thinking of saying next caught in his suddenly dry mouth. His petite partner swept her blouse over her head and tossed it in the washer, she was now standing in the middle of their apartment in nothing but a pair of sunshine yellow low-slung panties and matching bra. Egon had never considered himself a particularly sexual man, but this sight sent all of his blood thrumming below the belt.

“Yeah?” She called, fiddling with the nobs on the washer, soon he heard the rush of water filling the drum.

“…Why aren’t you wearing clothes?” She turned to face him, _God in heaven_ it was a sheer yellow bra. He tried not to moan aloud.

“It’s 90 degrees out with 100% humidity and we need to do laundry anyway. I was thinking of taking a cool shower before trying to get the aircon working.” Their air-conditioning was exceedingly fickle and had recently decided it hated the August weather as much as they did and given up. Fans and open windows could only do so much in moving the humid air around.

“Do you want to join me in that shower?” Janine asked with a twinkle in her eye, stepping close to him and running a hand down his chest. Egon felt himself twist a leer in response.

“I have a better idea.” He announced before devouring her lips. Janine clung to the front of his shirt, using it to leverage herself closer to him. Her lips parted in a broad smile against his, and he used the opportunity to explore the kiss, his tongue tracing over her lips, her teeth, before gently brushing against her own. Her tongue responded in kind and he found himself so lost in the kiss that he did not realize Janine had unbuttoned his light collared shirt until she was tugging it from his pants. He had forgone an undershirt given the weather and his intention to work from home. She ran her hands across his chest and he felt himself shutter. His fingers traced along her spine. They were both covered in a thin sheen of sweat but neither seemed to care.

His lips traveled from hers, down, along her jaw, down, across the pale column of her neck to her décolletage. She had nice clavicles, he had always thought so. Her shoulders as well. The only comparisons he could make to them harkened back to classical statues of Aphrodite in white marble. He trailed his way over one collar bone to a perfectly formed shoulder, he then nibbled his way back, pausing to lavish attention at the hollow of her throat before continuing on to pay her other clavicle and _glenohumeral joint_ an equal amount of attention. Her skin smelled of her and sweat and her favorite floral perfume. The scent had enthralled him when they had first met, lingering on his mind even after she had departed from his presence. Now the bottle sat on their dresser, beside the beautiful music box that she kept her most worn jewelry in. The scent now lingered on his clothes sometimes as he went to work.

She made a purring sound in the back of her throat and buried her fingers in his hair. He hadn’t realized they had taken a few steps back until he felt his hands connect with the smooth metal of the washing machine. His glasses were a problem. On the one hand, he wanted to see Janine as well as taste her. On the other hand, they were becoming fogged, smudged and generally getting in the way.

He travelled lower, leaving kisses in his wake until his lips met the edge of her bra. He pulled at the delicate fabric with his teeth, annoyed that it stood between him and objective, but aware of how expensive such beautiful lingerie was. This was one of the bras Janine washed by hand in the sink and left to airdry in the kitchen for him to find. One beautiful breast freed he latched onto the rosy nipple, kissing it gently before pulling it into his mouth. He sucked on the puckering skin, and traced designs on it with his tongue. His teeth worried it lightly and above him Janine called his name, one hand sinking into his hair and pressing him closer. Her nipples were as sensitive as they were beautiful, paying attention to them always resulted in a mutually satisfying erotic experience. Which was a good thing because Egon found he could not get enough of her breasts. To get from one peak to the other he traveled through the valley of her breasts, pausing to place a gentle kiss between them, where her scent was purest. He knew, anatomically that was not where her heart lay, but he could still feel it beating under his lips, pumping blood to her flushed body. His tongue laved her other nipple, he could hear her breath hitch as he did different things. The one piece of sex advice he willingly took from Peter Venkman, as unwanted as it had been at the time, was that listening carefully would make a world of difference.

He listened carefully now, repeating the actions that brought a moan from her throat, backing off of actions that did not. Janine writhed under his attentions, the faint scent of her perfume fading into the faint scent of her desire. His fingers found the claps of her bra across her back and with only limited difficulty opened the clasps (he had three doctorates, and more than a passing knowledge of engineering and two eyehooks could still spell his defeat). Janine’s hand gently cupped his face and pulled him up to her lips. Her kiss was searing, searching.

“Why am I basically naked and you’re fully clothed?”

“To be fair, my Dear, you had a head start.” He barely recognizes his own voice, it’s dropped several octaves. Janine’s eyes spark with desire. More than spark, there was a full-blown fire glowing in her hazel eyes. Sometimes he forgets how his voice affects her. He would use it to their mutual enjoyment if he didn’t have other plans for his mouth.

“Shirt. Off. Now.” She pushes it from his shoulders. How he managed to toss it on the dryer he does not know because her hands were sprawling across his chest, and she pressed open mouth kisses to his throat. Janine had once confessed that she would lose her train of thought whenever she saw his throat. He had had no idea his throat and neck could be erotic, and then she kissed it for the first time. He swallowed thickly. Nearly three years of intimacy she knew exactly where would reduce him to a seething, writhing collection of nerve endings and hormones. As she lavished attention on the hollow of his throat her hand traced up his chest to his nipple. The first brush of her fingers across the sensitive flesh was like lightening straight to his groin. She circled it a few times, feeling it contract in response, and then, ever so lightly she pinched it.

“Janine.” It ripped from his throat in a growl. Sometimes it felt like if she so much as looked at his nipples he’d get an erection. Her actually playing with them in any way was enough to put him into sexual overdrive.

“Yes, sweetheart?” She asked, bending her head to kiss where she just pinched. Her lips barely touched his flesh before he picked her up.

“EGON!” She let out a whoop of surprise and he sat her on top of the washer. “This is how you’ll throw your back out - Be careful!” If he hadn’t been preoccupied with getting her panties off without ripping them (another shockingly expensive item he’d learned) he would have rolled his eyes. She was tiny, and he’d lifted her all of two feet using his legs, not his back. He kissed her, hard, long, and deep. He kissed her until they both felt lightheaded from the need to breathe. Standing between her knees he held the sheer, now soaking, panties in his hand. Janine looked up at him from the washer, her lips swollen and parted. Without breaking eye contact he slowly lowed himself to his knees. The washer was slightly too tall for him to kneel comfortably, but it was worth the discomfort.

“Oh God.” She breathed, barely audible over the rumble of the machine. She had to be particularly ready for her to start invoking deities before he’d even touched her. He gave her a playful wink as he dramatically took his glasses off and handed them up to her for safe keeping. He’d learned early on that while he wanted to be able to see clearly during this act, glasses were not an asset to successful cunnilingus. She was now blurrier than Monet’s water lilies but from the way she moved he could assume she sat his spectacles on the dryer. Gently he hooked her knees over his shoulders and planted a soft kiss to the inside of her right one.

He kissed his way up her right thigh, his lips tracing the seam of her hip, before he placed kisses below her navel, mindfully avoiding her sensitive mons, despite her soft noises of annoyance at his neglect, and trailed his lips across her left inner thigh. Gently he reached up and encouraged her closer to the edge of the machine, and to tilt her pelvis slightly, giving him a better angle. What was left of his rational brain reminded him that the angle at which she was now sitting on her tailbone on metal was likely uncomfortable. The base part of his brain, which was currently dictating the bulk of his actions, however reasoned that slight discomfort could be ignored in the face of clitoral stimulation.

Janine was panting above him as he pulled his attention from her smooth, pale inner thighs. She moaned as he bent forward and finally, _finally_ placed his mouth where she wanted it. He first licked her with a long, broad stroke of his tongue like she was an ice cream cone on a hot day. He found her clitoris with ease (an undergraduate degree in anatomy, time as a coroner giving him the theoretical knowledge necessary and then nearly three glorious years of intimacy with this woman to teach him exactly where her nerve endings were) and began circling it lightly with his tongue. He kept the pressure maddeningly light, purposefully teasing. He had all the time in the world and he was going to enjoy it. One of Janine’s hands threaded through his hair, cradling the back of his head in her palm, but as of yet she made no demands with it. From circles he branched out to other shapes and directions, the tip of his tongue moving side to side, he traced the Cyrillic alphabet against her wet flesh, her desire filling his senses. Her beauty was all that he could hear, her breathy moans all he could hear, her warm soft flesh all he could touch. Her scent was strong, warm, and like home. He rolled her taste on his pallet, enjoying the balance of savory and sweet that was uniquely her.

“Egon.” She tugged his hair gently. Judging by the tone of her voice, as turned on as she was, the angle on her tailbone was getting to be a distraction. With a final, long slow lick he pulled away from her and stood up. He had been so focused on enjoying his partner he’d ignored his knees. They popped loudly in protest. Janine giggled and kissed him deeply. From Peter he’s learned (entirely too much information generally) that some women had strong feelings about kissing after receiving oral sex. Janine never seemed to mind, in fact she usually initiated it. She slid off the washing machine as she kissed him and made quick work of his fly. His chinos hit the ground before she broke the kiss. Gracelessly he stepped out of them and kicked them to the side.

His trunks went next, and his erection sprang free with a sigh of relief.

“Are you ready for me, my Dear?” Janine gave him a heated look and slowly turned around, bending herself over the vibrating washing machine.

“The real question, Sweetheart,” she said over her shoulder, “is are you ready for _me_?” _Lord have mercy_ , the view. The washer was slightly too tall for her to bend over without standing on her tiptoes, this made her legs appear longer and muscles flex. It tipped her rear in the air and arched her back. From the first moment he’d seen her, years ago, he’d known that he would do anything for her legs. They would be the death of him. Janine braced her hands on the wall behind the machine as he took himself in hand. He traced her with his glans and she keened. The act was both teasing and practical, providing him with some of her natural lubrication, as well as a topographical map of the angle he’d have to take to enter her. Plus, his head was sensitive, and the teasing light pressure which excited her also excited him. He bent his knees slightly, their height difference requiring it (or a stepstool) (his poor knees were going to be sore as hell later. He didn’t care). Slowly he entered her, pausing for a moment to enjoy her embrace.

He could reach new depths when he took her this way, ones they both enjoyed. Generally, he preferred to hold her close during sex, feel every part of her with every part of him and relish in the intimacy of the act beyond the obvious. Seeing her eyes sparkle, feeling her skin, kissing her lips. But it was too hot for that close, cuddly coitus.

It would be and exaggeration to say that when he placed his hands on either side of Janine’s hips and waist his fingers touched. An exaggeration, but not by much. She was a delicate woman, and yet she worried that he’d break if he ever picked her up. True, he was no muscle man, but he’d spent a few years jogging around Manhattan and the boroughs with a proton pack that weighed at least a couple of stone.

He set a rhythm, slow enough that he could enjoy feeling her, but not so slow it didn’t do anything for her (she prefers him faster, but too fast and he lost some of the sensation of being with her). He hummed Ravel’s _Bolero_ to himself. The rhythm was just perfect and rock steady, and the focus on the music helped him last.  He’d once put the record on during their post dinner wine and cuddle and she’d started laughing, saying something about Dudley Moore that he didn’t understand. Cultural reference, she’d told him. But Ravel had been phased out of their lineup.

“God you feel good.” Her voice had taken a lusty, lower tone to it, the harsher edges of her accent softening slightly. “So good, Sweetheart, I love it.” It was not the sort of dirty talk Peter would recognize (again, things he didn’t ask to know and yet was told), but it worked for them. Regular dirty talk was often vulgar and demeaning. He much preferred hearing what Janine liked, what he was doing well, what she wanted more of. He found her pleasure exceedingly pleasing, it also allowed him to respond to what she liked, which was useful in bringing her to completion. Plus, her voice was, in a word, hot. It was particularly hot the more turned on she was, it got lower and took a husky tone, and needy. The urgency in her words often drove him as much if not more than the actual content of what she said.

“Janine…” He knew she liked his voice, she’d made that very clear in the early days of their intimate relationship. The trouble was he never knew what to say. Narrating what was happening seemed so clinical. Even if it was true, he was aware enough of the nuances of the English language to know it wasn’t necessarily what was needed to be said – ‘the increased blood flow to your genitals has triggered and increase in vaginal lubrication which I find delightful’. ‘Your cervix has dilated slightly which allows me to get deeper than I would be able to were you unaroused’. Not exactly sexy.

“God Janine, you feel amazing.” It was accurate, if not particularly creative. She did feel amazing. He’d not understood people interest in sex beyond the theoretical until he began dating her. She made sex worth it – her smiles, the sounds, her skin. He couldn’t imagine such intimacy with other than her. There was no one else he needed but her.

He began to increase speed as he felt her muscles begin to tense. Increased tension in the extremities was one of the signs of a building orgasm. It was past the time for teasing for both of them. Under him Janine moaned. Under her the washing machine shifted into the last part of its cycle, it vibrated enough that even he could feel it from within her. It was stimulating to say the least.

“This feels amazing.”

“Oh, yeah?” She panted, her desire taking away from the inflection some, he was not entirely positive if that was an invitation to elaborate, agreement, or a ‘wait until you feel what I do next’ “Oh yeah”.

It was a, ‘wait until you feel what I do next’ “oh yeah”. On his next thrust into her she responded in kind with a thrust back against him, using her hands on the wall above the machine for leverage. As she began meeting him stroke for stroke she squeezed her pelvic muscles as he sank balls deep, taking all of him and gripping tightly.

“FUCK.” His brain metaphorically short circuited, the only parts remaining functional were the amygdala and the hippocampus, the pleasure centers – and they were working overtime. Janine moaned and continued to thrust back against him, sporadically squeezing him with Kegel exercises.

“Yes please!” her voice was nearly a growl, “God, I love it when you swear, Sweetheart.”

“Keep doing …that and I will.”

“What? This?” She thrust back again and squeezed him tightly. His ability to distract himself from orgasm was gone. Ravel all but forgotten. The washer kicked into its final, fastest gear.

“Fuck… Janine…God yes…”

“Oh! Oh! AH! OH!” She was as inarticulate as he was, a sure sign of how close she was to her completion. He only need to hold out a little while longer and his reward would be more than just his orgasm. The tension in her muscles that had started with her hands and feet had now taken her entire body. She was as taught as an over tuned guitar string, a little more and she’d snap. It took three thrusts before he could feel her muscles convulse, his name breaking on her lips.

“Eee-gon!” He followed behind her, thrusting frantically, gracelessly, hard and shallow, her muscles squeezing him to his own completion. He came with a low growl, not even a word, just a primal sound ripped from deep within him.

He collapsed – gently – on top of her, bent over the washer, which had stopped washing and was now screaming its own completion, right in his ear. He should get off of her, this was hardly a comfortable position for either of them, but his spine had liquified and was coming out his ears, and elsewhere.

Slowly he regained his senses, including that of balance, and stood up. Soften he regretfully slipped from his partner’s warmth. Fully standing for the first time in a wash cycle he could feel his knees protesting. It was, however, worth it. Janine dropped down from her tip toes and stood as well, swaying a little after so long with her calves and hamstrings engaged. He steadied her and she sank against his chest, neither caring they were considerably sweatier than before.

“Wow.” She breathed, looking up at him with a dazzling smile. The lustful blaze in her eyes had been quenched and replaced with a look of pure, sparkling love and affection. He kissed her, he couldn’t help it. When she looked at him like he hung the moon he wanted nothing so much in the world than to kiss her.

“Indeed.” His voice was still in its lower register. “I believe you said something about a shower? A nice cool one?” Janine laughed and kissed him lightly.

“Go ahead and get started, I need to get these clothes in the dryer first.”


	25. Sand-between-the-toes

**Summary:** At this point I guess I’ve developed a mini-series centering on the poetry of A.A. Milne. OR In which Violet Spengler is an excellent reader and good big sister.  
 **Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz  
 _Appearances by: Violet and Edison Melnitz Spengler_

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s note: Violet Spengler was born in July of 1990, her younger brother, Edison was born in March of 1993. Edison is old enough to pull himself up, but probably not walking yet, so this would be late 1993. Violet, therefore, is four and Edison isn’t yet one. Violet is a genius like her daddy and a voracious reader like Mum._

* * *

 

“ _I went down to the shouting sea, Taking Christopher down with me, For Nurse had given us sixpence each- And down we went to the beach_.”

It took Janine a moment to register what she was hearing, a soft, childish voice reciting poetry. Violet’s soft, childish voice reciting poetry. A smile broke across her face. There was only one place that particular book was located. And to think, she had been worried about what sort of big sister Violet might be.

“Egon,” She roused her husband from the calculations spread over the coffee table and gently tugged him toward his former office turned nursery.

“What?”

“Shh! Grab the camera.”

Egon complied, feeling ridiculous tiptoeing in his own home, but Janine insisted, a slender finger pressed to her lips. She stopped in the door of the nursery, forcing him to come up short behind her, camera in hand.

Violet had crawled up into the glider beside Edison’s crib, her little legs barely poking out over the seat as she sat, _When We Were Very Young_ open in her lap. Carefully she touched each word as she read aloud to her “biddy brother”. For his part, Edison was awake after his nap, clinging to the edge of the crib, completely engrossed in his sister’s story.

Neither child heard the click of the shutter.

Janine leaned back against his chest as she watched, beautiful smile on her lips. He wrapped his arms around her waist and enjoyed a moment of intimacy. His wife, their children, and no interruptions. Tipping her head back Janine whispered in his ear,

“We need to savor this moment before they start getting on one another’s nerves.”

“ _When we got home, we had sand in the hair, In the eyes and the ears and everywhere; Whenever a good nor'wester blows, Christopher is found with Sand-between-the-toes_.”


	26. A Limerick

**Summary:** Inspired by [this](http://toothlessrebel.tumblr.com/post/99738120594/a-limerick) tumblr post and dedicated to all the parents who helped with homework over the kitchen table, especially with the homework that you didn’t get (either because you never understood it or because kids today learn it differently than how you do it).

 **Pairing(s):** Egon Spengler/Janine Melnitz  
_Making an appearance: Edison Spengler_

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Ghostbusters, otherwise Ghostbusters II would have been *WAY* different.

_Author’s note: As a historian and a graduate student I’m bad at math and haven’t had to do it in a very long time, so the math involved in this story I’m not entirely sure when it would be assigned in school. I am guessing and saying that Edison is about ten, which means this story is set in roughly 2003. Also I don’t know if Egon is even explaining things right._

* * *

 

“Alright so x = 9. Do you see how I got that?” Two dark, floofy heads bent over the workbook on the kitchen table, scraps of paper littered around them both like fresh snow. Math homework was a struggle. Janine had never enjoyed math and had by now forgotten everything but what she did daily. Egon was the logical choice to answer such homework questions, except he was _too_ good at math. He had almost brought poor Edison to tears by turning his simple equation into calculus and matrix algebra.

Janine had stepped in then with a plate of fresh cookies and the suggestion that Eddie explain how they were being taught to do algebra in school since that was how they would be graded. The suggestion had finally gotten the two stubborn Spengler men on the same page of conversation. She had saved the day once, and while she doubted she’d need to save it again she stayed close nonetheless. Eddie’s explanation had helped jog Egon’s memory of how to do math before trig. Under the pretense of washing up after baking, Janine watched her boys.

Edison was ten now and growing like a weed. Every day he looked more like Egon. He was getting so tall now and filling out, they had finally broken down and gotten him glasses earlier that year, after a month of complaining that he couldn’t see the board. He’d opted for wire frames, like his father’s, although more rectangular than Egon’s signature round. His hair was as unmanageable as ever, though Janine had found that keeping it shorter provided some semblance of shape. Egon’s hair was shot through with grey now, but still mostly dark (he looked extremely distinguished if you asked her, distinguished and attractive). Edison’s hair is closer in color to what Egon’s was when they first met but with a bit redder tone to it, one of the few ways that Janine could see herself in his physical appearance. They sat side by side, matching glasses of milk, cookies within reach, textbook between them. If someone had told her nineteen years ago, as she sat at her desk that one day the man wiring up the computer would be the father of her children, and that they would be living permanently in the firehouse she’d have laughed herself silly.[1]And yet here they were, the family Melnitz Spengler.

Egon had been so worried that he would become his father. It had preyed on his mind during her pregnancies and kept him up at night. He had been convinced he would be a lousy father because his one example had been Darwin Spengler. Darwin Spengler who never said “I love you”. Darwin Spengler who never was proud of his son. Darwin Spengler who had instilled a fear and distrust of emotions so deeply into Egon’s fundamental self-understanding that even now, age fifty-nine he had a hard time identifying and naming even the basic feelings he was having. Egon Spengler was not his father. Janine had felt confident in telling him that back when she was first pregnant, and now she felt like the proof was irrefutable.

Edison had been confused and when he didn’t understand the math before him, but he felt confident that he could ask his father for help. Egon had immediately set aside his own project and joined his son at the kitchen table. He didn’t berate or abuse Eddie for not understanding. He didn’t belittle him for getting it wrong. He explained the proper steps and he explained them _again_ when Eddie asked. No judgement. He was patient and he was kind. Janine knew, knew it deep in her heart, that if Edison Spengler got a B on this section Egon would still speak to his son. His love was unconditional.

“Alright, so to check it, we should plug nine in for x in the original equation and see if it balances on either side of the equals.” Egon explained, pencil dashing across the page.

After nineteen years together, thirteen of them married with children, Janine was always amazed that she could still fall further in love with Egon Spengler. But she did. Watching him with his son, surrounded by math, being a good father… she was weak in the knees for him all over again. Egon being a good dad was her most potent kink.[2]

“So, this means the original equation now reads 12+144+20+3Ö4 over 7 plus (5x11) equals 92+0.” Egon showed the page to Edison, “to check we just run the math on either side of the equals, so-”

“Hey, that’s a limerick.” Eddie interrupted, excitedly.

“What?” Janine didn’t need to see Egon’s expression to know he was blinking owlishly at his mini-me.

“It’s a limerick.” Edison said again, pointing to the paper.

“How?”  Janine was glad he asked it, so she didn’t have to. Math was math, not poetry or verse. But then the only limericks she knew involved a man from Nantucket.

“A dozen, a gross, and a score,” Edison pointed to the equation, “plus three times the square root of four. Divided by seven. Plus five times eleven. Is nine squared and not a bit more.” Edison positively beamed with pride. Egon stared at the page and then stared at his son before raising his eyes to meet hers across the kitchen, his mouth hanging slack. He recovered himself after a beat.

“He’s yours.” He told her, rueful smile playing across his lips.

“Mine?”

“I would have never noticed that about this problem. Who but your son would find a hidden limerick?”

“Egon, he made a poem out of math, he is definitely _your_ son.”

* * *

 

[1]It probably goes without saying that the firehouse was remodeled professionally after the Peck Explosion. In this universe during the remodel they put in four small, but separate bedrooms instead of one large bunk room and a second full bath for the sake of privacy. Egon didn’t really move back into the firehouse during/after Ghostbusters II because he and Janine had a home. Similarly, Peter and Winston didn’t live their either. Early on Ray was the only one keeping the firehouse and containment center in repair, however after his marriage he decided to move out as well. For a while no one lived full time at the firehouse, then when Egon and Janine had Edison and realized their happy two bedroom walk up in Murray Heights wasn’t big enough they decided to move into the firehouse and keep it in appropriate shape. It still functions as headquarters for Ghostbusters, Inc. But upstairs is largely their home rather than a bunk room and kitchenette. It certainly makes for some interesting sleepovers…

[2]No, like seriously, I imagine the decision to start trying for Violet after taking a break from trying to get pregnant was prompted by Egon meeting Oscar. The night Edison conceived Janine had drug Egon into the bedroom after a day of watching him being an adorable father to Violet. In the parlance of our time, Egon Spengler with a baby makes Janine’s ovaries explode.


End file.
